Happy Birthday, David

Two years ago

              My therapist, also a David, points out that my answer to his question, “What’s happening?” (“Nothing”) is great news after the roller coaster of the past six months. But the waiting is exhausting. The bone marrow biopsy after the high-dose cytarabine chemo shows persistent leukemic cells, but Dr. Chen is optimistic that Sam’s lymphocytes (white blood cells), harvested in August and infused on September 11th, will attack the leukemic cells. We wait and see.

              David celebrates his birthday by making a lemon meringue pie to share at the clinic. The nurses ask, “Oh, did you do something special for your birthday?” His answer is non-committal. Not much excitement in his present life.

Early October 2016

              I’m a day late with my blog. My project of simultaneously blogging our story from two years ago and the present day reality is harder than I anticipated. Looking back on our struggles to keep hope alive, looking back with the knowledge that nothing will stop the freight train that is David’s death; facing those memories is daunting.

              Instead of working on my blog yesterday, I spend over two hours briskly walking the Minuteman bike path to Davis Square, where I meet with my excellent psychiatric nurse practitioner. I've scheduled my semi-annual visits for April and October, giving me two easy opportunities for long walks. It's cold and threatens rain, but my body soon warms up and I'm glad I left my windbreaker at home. After the appointment, I eschew the convenient public transit T and walk home in a bright and sunny,  quintessential New England fall day. Five hours in total, 16 ½ miles. As for the blog, truthfully, I have had all week to work on it; yesterday was just the final day of a week of procrastination.

              Yesterday was either David’s 29^th birthday or the day to remember that he’ll never turn 29. Was it a 'good' day? What does that even mean? I don't cry much; I'm grateful for the thoughtful emails we receive. I meditate on my walk, then listen to podcasts. In the evening we have a video-conference call with our children for our monthly family book group. Afterwards Jim and I do some family accounting. Nothing special, just everyday life, tinged with sorrow.