Thursday, June 16, 2005
When Bad Things Happen ...
Portrait of HB Hoyt 1986, oil on canvas
__ 2001, July 21: I was 54 when he died. He was 62. It seemed young to me, too young to be nearing life's end. It happens to older people. It also happens to younger people. It even happens to children. The cancer beast doesn't discriminate against age or gender or color.
Our cancer journey was a rough road filled with high centers and pot holes. It was a dead-end dirt road leading deeper and deeper into a swampy forest, and he was sinking. We were sinking. His dreams were filled with images of water and drowning alternately with images of flying and soaring. The shared ride brought us closer to each other. We had always been a good match, but when you fight together for Life, the bond becomes ever stronger.
He wanted me to write a book about our journey, our struggle against impossible odds. He wanted me to publish the journals. Maybe some good could come out of the bad. Maybe something there would help others.