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Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!

Saturday, October 13, 2012

Mostly done.

The raglan decreases on the sweater are done, as is the neckband, as is the weaving-in of ends. The neckband is about three-fourths stitched in place, and I still need to close up the underarms, but we are about this [ ] far from being ready to reinforce the steek, turn this pullover into a cardigan, and whip up the bindings for the front edges.

This morning we had the baptism of one of my Primary kids. Her father joined the church a few weeks ago. This, as a result of the child who walked up to her mom one day and said that she needed some money because she wanted her mom to sign her up for church. She figured it was like soccer, where you have to pay to play.

Only with your life, honey, only with every scrap of brains and heart and grit that you have, if you want it to be worthwhile. And it is.

We have the preliminary appointments set, and if I understand everything, the last one they gave us is not the first one in the series of treatments. Beloved has to be off chemo for 28 days before they can begin the new protocol, and his last chemo was September 20th. He is tired and weak and achy, and he asked today if maybe his hair is getting thinner, and maybe it is, a little.

I suspect that, without chemo to keep them down to a dull roar, all the little cancer beasties in his liver are letting the good times roll, much like the bugs in the Raid commercial before the shadow of that aerosol can falls over them. I had hepatitis in 1979. What I remember is being unutterably weary (a different sort of weariness than from depression) and having a perpetual dull ache in the midriff. He is having headaches, still, but mostly the achy middle. He came to the baptism with me this morning, but he was using my cane to help drag himself along.

The doctor said last week that if the protocol works, it will significantly improve Beloved’s quality of life as well as the quantity of time remaining. We are hopeful.

It is one thing to suffer, personally. Most of the suffering I have experienced in life, I have brought upon myself through poor choices. Some of it has been inflicted upon me by the poor choices of others. And some of it is just a byproduct of living in a fallen world. It is ever so much harder to watch one’s children suffer, or one’s spouse. I know it’s not as bad as it will get before the end, for either of us, but I think of the counsel and warning given to the Savior’s mother, that a sword would pierce her heart also.

There are days that it feels like that.  And yet, for the moment, my heart is at peace and I have no shortage of hope.

Beloved just walked in and is making getting-ready-for-bed noises, so I will close this down for the night and wish you sweet dreams and peaceful slumber. And us, as well.

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