I see the Moon, and the Moon sees me

Friday morning around 6 am I was driving to work and the moon was lovely. It was low on the horizon, but still above the trees. It was silvery, irredescent and definitely perfect. It gave me such a feeling of comfort, like a loving mother wrapping her arms around me. I felt lighter, like She was lifting a bit of the weight off my shoulders. Feeling Her shine on me, my constant, persistant hope became more joyful and less sheer determination. I smiled as She smiled on me...

Saturday night I took Rich to the annual Clam Bake that our friends host. For weeks it was touch and go as to whether he would be able to attend. I didn't push, I just waited. Silently. When the time came he wanted to go.

It was a lovely, balmy evening. Rich was struggling, but he was managing. Just as I hoped, he blossomed in the company of people who love and care about him. I was so proud of him I had to walk away to keep from getting weepy. And I wanted to give him space without his caretaker hovering about him. Like always, he laughed and joked and put everyone at ease despite his 70 lb weight loss since last year's clam bake. He managed being outside where everyone was gathered for nearly half an hour, but then he was tired and cold (despite the warm evening) so he went inside.

Christy lit the fireplace for him and tucked a blanket around him (in his three layers of clothes) and he sat there alone for awhile, insisting that I go outside and visit with friends. It was so warm in the family room where he sat that I was miserable after ten minutes. I kept coming back to check on him and bring him food every 15 minutes or so. After my third trip in I saw that he had drawn a crowd. People would come in, comment on how uncomfortably warm it was and then sit down next to him and lose track of time. He has that effect on people. There was a magician that somehow made Rich his cohort as he entertained the people that gathered, came and went. Rich ate tremendous amounts of wonderful food. He laughed and interacted with the people around him. I think he forgot for awhile that he was any different from the year before, or the people around him. For a very special chunk of Time, Rich was Rich again.

The next day he was still holding on to the gift of the night before. Throughout the day he told me again and again...”boy I had fun last night.”

Monday we decided he was ready to attempt to drive—just a short trip, someone with him. It was mid-morning (which means low traffic), I loaded the van full of the recycle containers and we headed up the road to drop the stuff off. Rich started smiling as we pulled out of the garage. He pulled out of the driveway and he was nearly giggling. Before we reached the end of our street he was laughing. Rich had not driven a vehicle since July 14th. All the way to the recycle station he grinned, every now and then a chuckle, punctuated by “this feels so strange”... “wow, I can't believe how this feels”.... “boy does this feel different!” ...”I'm driving again!”

Santa does not need to bring me anything for Christmas.

Today, Rich saw his surgeon. I'm sorry I missed it. I would have liked to be at an office visit that was good news. Dr A was THRILLED with the results of the last surgery to repair the liver abcess. The last CAT scan showed that his efforts were successful, the fatty tissue he used to fill the void has taken hold and is accomplishing the task, shrinking the pocket as intended. None of the remaining tumors in his liver and pancreas have gotten any larger. We're back in the fight.

I went outside this evening to talk to the Moon. (I've talked to her often all my life.) The sky was dark; she hadn't risen yet. Hopefully I'll see her in the morning. I want to tell her how much life has changed since Friday morning when she hugged me and made me smile.

God Bless the Moon, and God bless me.