It's Really About Those Left Behind
In the end, it is always about those left behind. This we always know, but as the throws of life prove to us (every time) we never remember it until an end has arisen. Every. time. In 2013 I met a woman named Barb, and when I met her she was recovering from just having discovered a cancer the size of a football in her leg. A football. A fucking football. Barb with her three kids, a widower herself, a new husband with two nearly grown teenagers, and a suburban house. When we met, she was just starting her home daycare up again . . . her Dad got certified so he could help her, and her family moved the daycare chaos up to the main floor since the surgery and cancer made walking up and down the stairs to the basement difficult on a good day and near impossible on most. I hadn't been married a year, when Barb and I met. After that January meeting we saw each other again in the spring, after I helped moved a friend up there. There was a par...