It's a strange thing, cancer.
It renders the greatest intellect impotent.
Families coalesce, grapple, then muster their courage to confront the reality, their angst cloaked in platitudes and favors. Certainly there must be something we can do!
Slow. Gradual. Relentless. And yet it's moving too fast.
I wake at night to my wife's restlessness, the thoughts of her mother circulating. Why her? Why now?
A sniffle, a sigh. There is little I can do.
The relentless march goes on, the cadence quickening.
We realize now what's important; her mother's gifts to us a gem.