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Cancer
Bedtime Reading
Soon after I met the man who is now my husband — it was our second date, I think — Peter explained one of his chief requirements in a woman: “Let’s go to the library. We’ve got to be able to read in the same room together.”
May 1987The Written Word
Writing words on paper is particularly arrogant. How presumptuous to believe that words on paper can capture meaning, freeze life, hold it for even a moment.
April 1987Minnie: Rest In Peace, Mom
In the second week of hospitalization my mother’s denial abruptly stops. I see a deliberate motion away from life, an about-face toward death, with a new-found dignity and acceptance.
December 1986God Bless The Child
Compassion filled the car with a tangible presence. He was dying; but it seemed to me they had all come to terms with it. All three of them had accepted the inevitable, and each moment together was precious. Neither I nor my saxophone would be forgotten.
October 1986Two Worlds
A Letter From Deena Metzger
It’s as if you’re walking on your heart and it’s holding you the way the earth holds you up — if you let it — or the spirit holds you up, your heart and your spirit, one holding you by one arm and the other supporting the other arm.
August 1986The Sorcerer’s Apprentice
Inside The Modern Hospital
Every little odd ache, cramp, tension; each sore throat, swollen gland, headache; a sudden pain when you reach for something on a shelf, a morning lethargy, an unexpected reluctance: all these whisper cancer.
March 1986Turning Points
A Salvation Army blanket, Texas ninety-degree road corners, the Marble Hill Dog and Cat Crematorium
April 1985
