I met Bob on a blind date, but my blind date wasn't with Bob. He came along as moral support for Robbie, my blind date. Robbie's aunt had arranged the date, and all Robbie knew about me was that I was a nice girl that his aunt knew from church. So he brought Bob along. The next time Robbie asked me for a date, I already had plans--with Bob.

It took us a few months to realize that we were soul-mates. Bob would tell me, 40 years later, "You're the one." We went through times when we lost sight of this, or when we resented being meant for each other, but we always found a way to rekindle the romance and the heat. When we were dating, Bob used to say that he was "stoked." Well, we stayed stoked, and that was one of our strengths. And it's something I can hardly think about without deep sadness, a year and a half after his death.

Bob survived childhood cancer, but he remained at high risk of nead and neck cancer because of radiation treatment he received as a very young child. When he was diagnosed with a second cancer, 43 years after his childhood cancer, he proclaimed himself lucky to have had 43 years without cancer. He always believed that he would die from cancer and that he wouldn't live to be old. I refused to believe this, and I still have trouble believing that I have to live on without him.

When his cancer became very bad, his oncologist prescribed an steroid that would give him a temporary illusion of improvement. The steroid would temporarily reduce the swelling the tumor was causing in his brain tissues, but it wouldn't reduce the tumor, and the effect would only last a few weeks. Then the swelling would come back and the tumor would be further advanced.

At the same time, I took a leave from work, and those weeks--when he felt a little better and I didn't have to leave his side--were what we called "our Indian summer."

He asked me to write about our experience and our Indian summer, and I hope I can do so now.  ¶ 10:12 AM 0 comments