Dear Friends and Family,
This afternoon, the phone was ringing like a siren’s song as we opened the door when we returned from our brisk morning walk. After running into our well-lit kitchen to grab the phone, I saw the name on the caller ID. Instinctively I hesitated as I took a deep breath. Nancy looked at me with an unspoken alarm, silently asking, “What’s the matter?”
“Dr. Winn, this is Rachael from the transplant team. I have exciting news. Your donor has consented to the transplant.”
A single tear rolled down Nancy’s cheek because I had been holding the phone so she could hear my conversation. Her tear matched mine. Another piece of the puzzle was now in place.
“Thank you so very much, Rachael.”
Recently, our time at home has been pretty quiet and uneventful, so I haven’t written as much to you. However, during this time away, we have made a “family” discovery. On the days when I’m not at the office early, Jayna doesn’t have school, and Nancy is not hurrying to a doctor’s appointment or pre-transplant test, our family has rediscovered a special time—breakfast.
With everyone rested, each of us now takes turns cooking and serving the first meal of the day. It’s quickly becoming a family tradition. Nancy’s taste buds have rallied from the burn of chemotherapy and she craves Krispy Kreme donuts. So I serve her two KKs—one glazed and one chocolate. (Why not? In a little more than a week, Nancy is due for her next round in the hospital. She won’t be eating much then, if at all.)
Food is merely a small part of our new ritual. Breakfast often extends to midday. Whether we’re relaxing in the dining room or lounging on our new living room furniture, we share family memories, tell personal stories, read the many cards from friends and acquaintances, and look at almost any type (regardless of subject) of interesting pictures, particularly of faraway places and lands.
Not surprising, the fall sunshine comes from a lower point on the horizon each day now, but it still catches the leaves on the many aspens and cottonwoods. The trees shimmer in the soft breeze and shine with such a brilliant gold they seem ready to burst and explode into a million pieces of dazzling rubies, sapphires, and diamonds.
Quite simply, we feel rich both in spirit and in our souls. We are very fortunate to have each other—our little family.
We love our homey paradise by the river.
We love that Nancy is home and feeling decent.
We love that she is getting strong.
And most of all, we love that she is getting ready for what lies ahead.
On most days, we take turns playing music on the stereo system, we go to almost any movie matinee that appeals to Nancy, and we play Monopoly, Clue, and computer games until far too late in the evening. We also (far too often) fall asleep watching videos—all three of us (Nancy, Jayna, and me) in our king-size bed. Unfortunately, Jaret’s school schedule makes him a weekend-only visitor. But on the many frequent weekends he is with us, he stakes out his favorite spot—on the floor surrounded by lots and lots of pillows and blankets.
Occasionally, we visit a restaurant that strikes Nancy’s fancy. Most often, though, we dine on delicious meals that are silently dropped off on our doorstep by the informal network of supporters. (We feel your love, and the food that you provide us nourishes not only our bodies, but it strengthens our souls as well.)
Our home also continues to be filled with something that similarly sustains our journey—laughter. It is more important now than in the past. Laughter soothes our family’s collective soul.
“Look, Dad. Mom has a natural Mohawk.”
With great hesitancy, Nancy now allows Jayna and me to examine her “fuzzy” head from all sides. Nancy’s salt-and-pepper strands, now barely an inch long, come together like small teepees in the center of her scalp, extending from the cowlick in the front of her head to the endearing singular mole toward the back.
(Jayna’s right. It does look like a Mohawk.)
As you also know, an important part of my morning ritual is kissing Nancy’s head. I perform this simple ceremony each and every day—right after Nancy has her second donut and before we do the dishes.
“Your turn to cook, Dad. And to do the dishes.”
“Why are you so mean to me, Jayna?”
“You know, Dad.”
“What, sweetheart?”
“I would definitely treat you better if you had leukemia like Mom.”
Jayna’s deadpanned statement is, as always, timed perfectly. It makes all three of us laugh. Especially Nancy.
Summary: Our time together at home has been magnificent.
Sent with love,
Winnie