{"id":273,"date":"2020-03-23T19:03:23","date_gmt":"2020-03-23T19:03:23","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/stevesearls.com\/?p=273"},"modified":"2020-03-23T19:03:23","modified_gmt":"2020-03-23T19:03:23","slug":"three-prisms","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/stevesearls.com\/?p=273","title":{"rendered":"Three Prisms"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

 A letter to Tessa, age 17, from her\nbest friend, Sylvia <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

[Ed. Note: Full text of letter not provided]<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2026 This heart thing you\u2019re going\nthrough, I admit it scares the hell out of me. I can\u2019t help it, but you have me\nthinking about the problem of suffering, all suffering, not just being sick\nlike you are.   It\u2019s a fact that if\nsomething hurts and that pain lasts long enough, you become numb to it. You\njust start to accept that life sucks, and you forget about anything but\nyourself, what you\u2019re going through, and forget about what other people are\ngoing through.  I mean, it gets easy to\nbe selfish and ignore the fact that other people matter, too.   I just wanted to say you matter to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\nwanted to tell you this before, so many times before, but I was a coward.  Afraid of what might happen if I told you.  But I\u2019ve been putting this off for too\nlong.  My heart being broken is a silly\nthing to worry about when the person who may break it might die.  And I didn\u2019t want to lose a friend.  My best friend, when I think about it.  But here you are T, sick and I kept thinking\nI would lose you and you would never have known that I love you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

See,\nI said it.  And I don\u2019t mean love like\nwe\u2019ll be best friends forever.  I mean I really\nlove you, the kind of love where I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I\u2019m\nscared out of my mind right now imagining you reading this and thinking of me\nas some sort of pervert, but it isn\u2019t fair to me or you that I keep this to\nmyself any longer.  I\u2019ve wanted to kiss\nyou for so long you can\u2019t know.  Every\ntime we sit together and your hand reaches out to touch mine, or we hug, or I\nhear you laugh, my chest swells up with this impossible sensation, like my\nheart\u2019s being lifted out of my body and I get dizzy, and I spend the rest of\nthe day fantasizing what it would be like to be with you every second of every\nday.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\nknow we talk about boys, but the truth is I don\u2019t like boys that much, at least\nnot the way I\u2019m supposed to.  No boy ever\nmade me as excited just thinking about him, not like you do.  I don\u2019t know why I feel this way, and I\u2019ve\ngiven up caring.  If I could, I would\ntake you in my arms right now and hold you forever.  I know you probably don\u2019t think the same way about\nme, as someone you could fall in love with. \nI understand that what I feel about probably will always be stronger\nthan what you feel for me, but if you could just try once, maybe give me one\nkiss, not a girlfriend kiss but a real one, you might feel something\nmaybe.  It could happen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\nwanted to tell you this in person, honest I did, but I hate\nhospitals.  They freak the shit out of me,\never since my dad died.  I can\u2019t stand\nthem.  I didn\u2019t want to spring this on\nyou while you were lying in a hospital bed, all sick and drugged up and in pain\nand all.  So, I chickened out and sent\nyou this letter.  I hope it will give both\nof us time to consider it, in any case. \nYou don\u2019t have to decide anything about me right away. Really, I can\nwait.  I\u2019ve been waiting for a long time\nalready.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You\nwant to know something?  I keep a picture\nof you under my pillow each night.  It\u2019s\nthe only way I can get to sleep, knowing you are close by.  Sometimes I pull it out before I turn out my\nlight and just stare at you.  I love your\nred hair. I love your page boy haircut, and that you can\u2019t help brushing it\nwith your hands because you\u2019re never satisfied with how it looks (it looks\namazing, btw.). I like your smile in the picture, which is just a little off\ncenter, a real smile, not like all those fake smiles from everyone else I know.  I like it that your nose is just slightly\ncrooked and has this cute little bulb at the end of it. And your eyes.  They\u2019re always so bright, like they\u2019re\nshining.  I know I sound like an idiot,\nbut I can\u2019t help it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Your\nMom said you might be home in another week. \nShe said the doctors finally got you on the right medicine for your\nheart and that they told her you should be a lot better soon.  I\u2019ll see you then, ok, if you still want me\nto.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m\nsorry if this upsets you.  Don\u2019t hate me Tessa.  It\u2019s just me being my usual crazy self.  Love does that to a person, you know?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

XOXO<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sylvia<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ps.  I suppose I don\u2019t need to tell you this but\nplease don\u2019t tell anyone, even if you decide we can\u2019t be friends anymore.  My parents don\u2019t know.  Nobody knows. \nOnly you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

* * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A letter to Tessa, age 25, from her sister, Jessica, posted from\nMadrid, New Mexico.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

[Ed. Note:  Full text not provided]<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2026 It really is just an ugly, stupid desert with dead clumps of grass\nand scrub fried brown by the heat. Whenever I look up at the sky here, there\u2019s\nalways vultures up above. They look like smudges of black paint drifting along,\ncircling back and forth.  It\u2019s just them\nand that nasty sun that I am really beginning to hate.   I\u2019m in a place where the dust blows just to\nshow you where the wind once was.  Knowing you, you\u2019d probably love it\nhere.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The houses around here are weathered. \nNothing looks new.  They are worn\ndown like the people inside them, hiding the liver spots on their arms and\nnecks and cheeks with their sunburned skin. \nI swear that the only things that grow here are mounds of eroded red and\ngrey rocks.  You see them for miles and\nmiles, little mountains with old gritty roads that wind through them, like\ndusty rivers at the bottom of canyons. Someone told me the mounds are the\nleftover tailings of coal mining operations back when this was a mining town.\nIt was a ghost town for a while until some hippies moved her and turned it into\nan artist colony and tourist stop on the way from Albuquerque to Sant\u00e9 Fe.  Some days, I think it should have stayed\ndead, you know. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

. . . Sunset is my favorite time of the day, the only time beauty visits the double-wide trailer where we live, right up against a mesa, spreading its tablecloth of red-spotted light across the landscape\u2019s stubborn existence.\u00a0 It\u2019s so fucking gorgeous T. Too bad it doesn\u2019t last long.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2026 Bob is usually gone by then, off to work as a waiter at a ritzy, overpriced resort restaurant near Sant\u00e9 Fe, thirty miles north of here.\u00a0 He gets home late, after 4 am most nights.\u00a0 Sometimes I\u2019m up when he gets home and sometimes not.\u00a0 He says the only hours he can get is the late shift, but when I\u2019m in one of my paranoid moods I imagine him flirting at some bar with other women, or going out with one of the waitresses after work, or worse. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Once, I thought I smelled tequila on his breath when he got home, and we had a real blowup.\u00a0\u00a0 It ended with me crying on the carpet at his feet after he threw some lawn chairs against the trailer and kicked the trashcan over. Then he got in his truck and just drove off, wheels spinning and dirt flying like a scene from a bad romcom. \u00a0He came back the next afternoon and apologized all over the place. Even brought me a bouquet of wild flowers he said he picked himself.\u00a0 Of course, he made the usual promises about not letting it happen again, etc.\u00a0 Now, I don\u2019t talk to him about work or what he does in his spare time.\u00a0\u00a0 I don\u2019t want to think about it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2026 I try to paint, you know, I really do try.  Yet when I set up my easel or take out my\nsketchbook and try to pick a subject to work on, I freeze up.  That big blank empty space begins to expand\nuntil it sucks whatever motivation I might have had right out of my dumb little\nbrain.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

A lot\nof days, I find I\u2019ve spent an hour or more just staring at nothing. And I can\u2019t\nremember a single solitary thing I saw or heard \u2013 not one fucking thing.  I thought moving here would inspire me to\nwork again, but it\u2019s been the exact opposite. \nI\u2019m turning into a zombie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2026 The sky out here is so big, but its dead, and the land is dead and\nthe people here might as well be dead, too, for all they acknowledge me.  When the wind picks up it whistles in these\nweird high-pitched tones that drives the dog nuts and she runs around howling\nat nothing.  Those are the times that make\nme feel that the ghosts that supposedly haunt the old mines are alive. More\nalive than anything else in this place, including me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2026 To be honest with you, I\u2019d probably be drinking or smoking again if I weren\u2019t pregnant.\u00a0 I don\u2019t really know anyone in this town, but the clerk at the grocery store.\u00a0 There\u2019s one\u00a0 bar that serves food in town, and it\u2019s the meeting hall for the local chapter of \u201cDirty Old Men Without All their Teeth Drinking Coors at Noon in Cowboy Boots.\u201d\u00a0 I went there one time and walked out ten minutes later.\u00a0 Yes, it was that bad.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2026 I walked into one of the art galleries in town once, just to look at the paintings, but the owner made it clear she didn\u2019t want any \u201clocals\u201d around who might scare off the \u201cclientele\u201d (her words).\u00a0 As if anyone around here considers me a local! Real piece of work that one was, wearing no less than ten pounds of silver and turquoise around her neck, her wrists, and some\u00a0 earrings dangling obscenely like big blue green dung beetles from her earlobes.\u00a0 You know the type \u2013 frizzed out Carole King hair and scrawny as an old witch, but trying hard not to show her age.\u00a0 She had a one-inch streak of white running through her black hair (which I bet she bleached herself).\u00a0 And get this \u2013 a Bronx accent to boot!\u00a0\u00a0 I should have laughed in her face, but people around here look at me strange enough as it is.\u00a0 I don\u2019t need to become the focus of the townies\u2019 gossip.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2026 I\u2019d really love it if you came down to see me, T.  I know you\u2019re busy getting your Masters, but\nyou could come down over spring break, right? \nI\u2019ll pitch in for gas money if you need it.  Plus, I guarantee you will be able to feel\nyour little nephew or niece kicking my tummy when you arrive.  You won\u2019t get an offer like that from any of\nthe guys you\u2019re dating right now (you are still dating right?).   I just want to hear your voice again for\nmore than a few minutes each month. \nDamn, I wish I could afford to visit you, but we only have the one car,\nand Bob doesn\u2019t make enough money to buy plane fare or a bus ticket. I feel\nguilty as hell because I know you don\u2019t have the money to waste on your silly\nolder sister, but it would mean a lot to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If you do come, we\u2019ll take a day trip to Sant\u00e9 Fe to gawk at all the\nrich bastards and their trophy wives and check out all the stores and galleries\nthey have there.  And maybe we could\nvisit Taos too.  Bob wouldn\u2019t be around\nmuch, so it would be just us two, like when we were kids hanging out in our\nroom, hatching plots to go to the Mall and sneak into some R-rated movie.   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Please come.  You know you want\nto, and it would mean the world to me. What else is there to say?  It\u2019s an old country down here and I\u2019m\nlonely.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Love,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Your\nBig Fat Sister, Jessica<\/p>\n\n\n\n

* * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tessa, age 30: Selections from her deceased Father\u2019s journal <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

[Ed.\nNote:  Dates of journal entries not\nprovided]<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Today my dear old mother-in-law\nshowed up, bantering away like an anxious crow and feeling the many-colored walls\nof our newly painted house with her nails: the teal one, another in burgundy,\none in dark brown, others in pale blue, beige, slate, and some sort of muddy\npurple that reminds me of dark grapes.  I\nexplained that I hadn\u2019t picked the color scheme, that it was her daughter and\ngranddaughter who made all the selections, not me.  She said they made some bad decisions.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dora stayed away the whole time at\nT\u2019s place.  When she came back, she had\nthat look about her where she really doesn\u2019t see me, the look of a crazy person\nabout to lose it but keeping it together somehow.  She had new bruises on her arms and\nlegs.  I was going to say something about\nthem, but the words wouldn\u2019t come once I saw her eyes and the fear in them.  I kept my mouth shut.  Or to be honest, it kept itself shut for me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve become a robot, wandering around\nthe house when she\u2019s here, performing all the little chores she used to do for\nherself.  T tells me I should try to get\nher to do more for herself, that it would be good for her, but T isn\u2019t here all\nthe time like I am, doesn\u2019t see what I see. \nShe can\u2019t possibly understand how much of Dora has gone missing, how\nmuch will never come back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

* * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This\nmorning, about 30 minutes after Dora took her meds, we were talking and\nsuddenly, I don\u2019t remember exactly why, but she flashed a smile at me as broad\nand bright as the ones I remembered from our wedding.  After she left to go sit at the park and feed\nthe ducks, I went and dug out our wedding album.  There it was: the same big grin that stretched\nover her entire face, the one I remembered of her in her gown beneath the blue\nstained windows of the church.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

That blue-lit church was so damned hot the day when we were married. The temperature was 98 degrees outside, the hottest day all that summer.\u00a0 Except for one room, the church had no air conditioning. \u00a0Where the pictures were taken, in the Nave, there was a big rotating fan.\u00a0 Everyone in the wedding party took turns standing next to it while waiting to be called up front by the photographer.\u00a0 Dora, being the bride, was in more pictures that anyone, and stood in the heat the longest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As I\nremember it, her bridesmaids lifted up her white-princess gown, all heavy silk\nand lace, to get some cool air to her legs, everyone laughing together at the\nabsurdity of it, like little kids at a playground, but no one laughed more than\nshe did.  Her face was rounder back then,\nand lacked the broken lines the years have put there; but the smile, when it\ncomes, still forces me to recall why I fell so madly for her.  Why I still love her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She\nhad such an intense personality, and I still see that in her when she smiles,\nrare as that may be these days.   It’s\nhard for me to look at that smile for long without smiling back. A thousand,\nthousand candles bright, that smile is.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

* * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We\nhave become a word no one can name. It doesn’t exist in any dictionary or any\nlanguage I can imagine.  I lie awake to\nwrite these words, and as I do, all I feel is dread emanating from the walls of\nthis house.  We call it our home, but it\u2019s\nnot one anymore.   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

In my mind, I\u2019m always thinking about our unpaid bills and shrinking bank balances, fuel for my nightly insomnia.\u00a0 Tomorrow I must go to the pharmacy and pick up more of her meds, swiping my credit card and hoping I haven\u2019t exceeded my credit limit.\u00a0 If they don\u2019t approve her disability claim soon, I\u2019ll have to break into my 401k.\u00a0 All the rest of my savings are gone except for sixty ounces of gold, and that has to be kept for the girls.\u00a0 Just has to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Friends\nsuggest herbal cures and potions and other alternative treatments, all ones\nwe\u2019ve tried before; but none worked.   My\nemail inbox has row after row of suggestions and miracle cures.  I don\u2019t bother to read them anymore.  I no longer desire to wish on stars. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oh,\nthe money I wasted on hopes and dreams.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

* * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I went\nto see Dora\u2019s oncologist today at the clinic where she was treated.  She\u2019s quite young for a cancer doc.  An attractive woman somewhere in the vicinity\nof thirty, she\u2019s very striking. She made quite an impression as she rose from\nbehind her desk and offered her hand to me. I refused to shake it.  After a moment, in which she seem confused,\nshe smiled and offered me a seat.  Such\nbeautiful white teeth she had.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I gave her copies of the research papers I found on the internet, printed out, nice and neat.\u00a0 The long term effects of chemotherapy on the central nervous system, Duffner, Journal of Biology <\/em>2006, and Systemic 5-fluorouracil treatment causes a syndrome of delayed myelin destruction in the central nervous system, Han, Yang, Dietrich, Luebke, Mayer-Pr\u00f6schel and Noble, Journal of Biology <\/em>2008.\u00a0 They were in a folder I tossed on her desk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cEver seen these before?\u201d  I admit my tone was rude, nasty even. What\ncan I say?  I have good reasons.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She glanced at the title pages of the\npapers and casually flipped through them. \nI looked out her large office window. \nShe has a great view of the parking lot. \nWhen she finished, she looked up at me and her cheerful demeanor was\nlong gone.  \u201cI\u2019m not sure what this is\nabout,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s about that damn fucking 5FU you gave Dora, I said. \u201cYou knew what it would do to her brain!\u00a0 Or you should have fucking known! If you say otherwise, you\u2019re a damn liar!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now\nshe was upset, too, which was fine by me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere\u2019s no need to raise your voice, Mr. Evanston. And no need to curse.\u00a0 As for these, I\u2019ve never seen them before you handed them to me today.\u00a0 I have no opinion as to their relevance to your wife\u2019s treatment.\u00a0 I can tell you your wife received the best care available and, as you must know, all her blood work shows she is effectively cancer free.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was\nin no mood to shut up, however.  My\ntemper got the better of me.  Who was she\nto lecture me anyway?  Did she have to\ntake care of Dora now that her brain was fried? \nOf course not.  I kept yelling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf I could find what your precious 5FU did to people like Dora with a simple Google search, you sure as hell should have known.\u00a0 The first damned research paper was published two years before her diagnosis.\u00a0 You knew that crap was poison.\u00a0 You knew it would strip her nerves bare.\u00a0 You knew it would short-circuit her brain.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She objected to that. Said she knew nothing of the sort. Claimed anyone can write an article and get it published.\u00a0 That the conclusions the authors reached weren\u2019t necessarily correct. That the treatment Dora received had little if anything to do with her current cognitive issues.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now I\nwas royally pissed.  <\/em>Did you look at the names on those\nstudies? The people who did them? \nHarvard Medical School, lady.  The\nNeurology Department of Massachusetts General. \nDid you go to Harvard?  Do you\nhave a specialty in Neurology? Do a residency at Mass General?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\nthink you\u2019d better go,\u201d she said.  She\npicked up the folder with copies of the research papers and tried to hand it to\nme, but I laughed.  I really did, right\nto her face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cKeep\n\u2018em,\u201d I said.  \u201cIt\u2019s obvious you need\nthem more than me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then I\nstormed out.  And here I am, mad as hell\nand up late writing this all down, and for what?  It serves no purpose.  I\u2019ve got to stop doing this.  I\u2019ll never get any sleep if I keep making\nmyself angry over this crap.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

* * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I told\nthe girls today.  They took it well, all\nthings considered.  I guess I\nunderestimated my daughters, but what else is new?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I should have told them months ago when I first found out, but I was afraid.\u00a0 I found out my diagnosis only a month after I had to put Dora in an assisted living facility because I couldn’t take care of her myself anymore. Guess I was afraid the girls would break down and we\u2019d have a big weepy scene, the sort of thing I hate.\u00a0 I just don\u2019t have the energy for that kind of drama.\u00a0 But there were no scenes, no big whatever.\u00a0 I guess I shouldn\u2019t have been so concerned.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Maybe I was just scared to face them, together, and deliver one more blow after all they\u2019ve been through these last few years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

J looked the most anxious, but she hid it well, I thought.\u00a0 Of course, she has to worry about my grandson and getting child support payments from that bastard ex-husband of hers.\u00a0 I figured he\u2019d skip out on her the minute he heard the doctors tell them his kid was autistic.\u00a0 To be honest, I was surprised he stuck around for three months after getting the news. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

J showed me some of her paintings (prints really) and naturally I liked them.\u00a0 I was more pleased to hear she actually sold some, and at a decent price, too.\u00a0 The gallery she deals with is asking for more of her work, so that\u2019s a good sign.\u00a0 I said I was impressed.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She was holding little James while we talked, and he was off in his own world, but every once in a while he\u2019d look at her, and you could see he has a connection with her that he doesn\u2019t have with anyone else.\u00a0 Somewhere he has a mind behind all his wary stares, his failure to talk and the fits he throws every time someone other than J touches him.\u00a0 I wish I could say I love him, but I\u2019m not that good a person.\u00a0 Mostly I just feel pity, and that\u2019s the last thing he needs.\u00a0 It\u2019s probably best he\u2019ll never remember his grandfather. I did add him as a beneficiary to my life insurance and re-did my will so that some of the money will go into a trust for his education or care or whatever.\u00a0 That\u2019s something, I guess.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Later,\nwhile J and James took a nap together in the upstairs guest bedroom (the one\nDora painted a bright yellow of all things) T told me not to worry about\nanything, that they\u2019ll make sure to take care of their mother after I\u2019m\ngone.  Which means T will have to do it,\nof course, because I know J has too much on her plate, what with James, no\nhusband, and no steady income.  I just\nhope J can find someone who appreciates her. \nGoing to be hard to find another man as a single mother with a small\nchild, much less one that\u2019s \u201cdevelopmentally challenged,\u201d but maybe I\u2019m being\nold-fashioned.  Maybe it\u2019s not a man she\nneeds.  Maybe with the boy, J already has\nwhat she needs.  God I hope so.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

While\nJ slept, I showed T all the paperwork she\u2019ll need to deal with and introduced\nher to my lawyer on the phone \u2013 we\u2019ll pay a visit to his office next week.  I also gave her a copy of my living\nwill.  There will be no chemo for me and\nno \u201cextraordinary measures.\u201d  If I have\nto die, I\u2019d rather do it with all my wits about me.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m\nnot as worried about T.  She has this\nhardness to her.  I don\u2019t know where it\ncomes from, frankly.  We were so close\nonce, when she was the last one left at home, before college.  She was happier living at home, I think.  Sillier, more playful, always taunting me and\ntwisting me around like young girls do.  She\nwas always a Daddy\u2019s girl. More than J was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now I never see T\u2019s old self.\u00a0 She\u2019s so serious.\u00a0 It\u2019s as if I\u2019m staring into the mask of an automaton that has her face, but nothing else.\u00a0 She still smiles, tells her little jokes, pokes fun at me, but it\u2019s not the same.\u00a0 Something got lost. I don\u2019t know what changed her when she went away to school.\u00a0 She won\u2019t tell me.\u00a0\u00a0 I suppose I could play the dying dad card, but that would probably backfire.\u00a0 Maybe she\u2019ll talk about what\u2019s happened before I leave the building.\u00a0 I doubt it, though.\u00a0 She\u2019s like her mother. Keeps her secrets.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0J says she doesn\u2019t know anything about the changes in T, though at least she told me she\u2019d noticed them too, that I\u2019m not crazy.\u00a0 She says they aren\u2019t as tight as they used to be. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

* * *<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This afternoon T and I drove out to the hospice I picked for when I\u2019m no longer \u201cfunctional.\u201d\u00a0 It\u2019s a nice place, an old East Avenue mansion retrofitted to offer what they call \u201cpalliative care\u201d for up to 20 patients at a time.\u00a0 All patients have two staff members assigned exclusively to them.\u00a0 It\u2019s a bit pricey, but I don\u2019t expect to last long.\u00a0 In any event, the people seemed very friendly, cheerful even.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Everyone\nwho stays there gets their own room with at least one window that looks out on\nto either the street or the grounds. \nEvery room has trees outside the windows, I believe, and lilac bushes\nsurround the place.  I figure by the time\nI\u2019m ready for it, spring will be here. \nI\u2019d like one last spring with the trees blossoming and some birdsong to\nlisten to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

T\nasked a lot of questions of everyone but when we finished our tour , she seemed\nsatisfied.  I told her at least it was\ncheaper than a hospital, which got a laugh out of her.  She said something funny back, but for the\nlife of me, I can\u2019t remember it now. \nMaybe later it will come to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She\ndidn\u2019t cry until we were leaving.  I saw\nher eyes water. It was uncomfortable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAre\nyou all right,\u201d I asked.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m fine, Dad.\u201d\u00a0 She was a little snippy, almost defiant.\u00a0 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell,\nyou look like you\u2019re about to cry is all.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m\nnot.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s okay,\u201d I said, \u201cyou can cry if you want. \u00a0I \u2013 I cried the night I found out, you know.\u00a0 That wasn\u2019t easy for me to say, but it was true.\u00a0 I bawled like a little kid after a spanking.\u00a0 I hate to admit it, but I still do a lot of nights.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not crying!\u00a0 Why are you talking about crying anyway?\u201d \u00a0She was angry, wouldn\u2019t look at me. I reached for her arm, but she pulled it away.\u00a0 We got into the car.\u00a0 I was tired, so I didn\u2019t object when she climbed behind the wheel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\nreally don\u2019t want to talk about this right now. Just drop the whole subject of\ncrying and whatever else you think you need to say, because I\u2019m not in the\nmood.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So\nthat\u2019s what I did.  We had a quiet ride\nhome. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

 A letter to Tessa, age 17, from her best friend, Sylvia [Ed. Note: Full text of letter not provided] \u2026 This heart thing you\u2019re going through, I admit it scares…<\/p>\n

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