Memory Lane

As I've mentioned previously, I read my horoscope daily and, although I really don't put much stock in it, every once in awhile it seems particularly relevant to what is going on in my life. That was the case yesterday when I read this: You cannot unlive what you have lived, but you can find another way to respond to it. You'll take a judicious trip down memory lane, and it will be a little like cropping a picture and keeping the best parts of the image in the frame.

That's good advice for me to follow during the next couple of months as I approach the second anniversary of Art's death. Because few of the memories of what was going on in my life at this time two years ago are happy ones, it is important that the trips I take down memory lane, especially during May and June, are "judicious." And it will take more than a little "cropping" to keep only the best parts of the image in the frame. Thinking back on it now, there are very few images from those months that I would want to keep.

The one I've been thinking about most often lately is one that can both make me smile and bring me to tears. It happened during what turned out to be our last trip to the cancer center, where Art had a battery of tests to see if the latest round of chemo had slowed or arrested the lymphoma. We were staying in one of those suites hotels, which had two double beds and a living area with a couch that made into a double bed. Our youngest daughter was with us, and under normal conditions, Art and I would have slept in one bed and she would have slept in the other. However, conditions were anything but normal. Because I had broken my humerus a couple of weeks earlier and, with my arm in a sling, was unable to sleep comfortably, I insisted on sleeping in the couch/bed so that my restlessness wouldn't disturb anyone.

Early the next morning, before it was even light out, Art came into the living area to see if I was awake. I was. He asked if it was alright to get in bed with me and, of course, I said yes. He laid down next to me, held me as close as possible, considering the condition of my arm, and we talked quietly about how much we'd missed sharing these quiet moments of closeness and how happy we would be to be intimate once again…when he was better and my arm had healed. He died just a little over a week later.

Although I wish I could "unlive" most of what led to that moment, it is an image I'm choosing to keep in the frame.