Dear Friends and Family,
“Let’s go outside.”
The last time I was as excited to hear those three words was when I was eight and my friend Arthur knocked on the front door of our house just after a torrential thunderstorm. The lightning and downpour ended with a rainbow that seemed to end in the woods behind my house. I jumped at the chance to go outside and search for the pot of gold. Though there was no gold to be found, we did discover a huge oak that been knocked over by the intense wind that accompanied the storm. We created a fort beneath the tree’s roots that kept us entertained for the entire summer.
Today, the rainbow came from my bride. Her tooth-filled grin reflected great pride, her eyes sparkled as brilliantly as a cloudless sky in summer, and her confident attitude was more valuable to me than the pot of gold at the end of the multicolored arc. It would be our first nonhospital trip and we were venturing into the “wilds” of Salt Lake City.
Like a prisoner walking through an iron gate, Nancy looked in all directions as we slowly navigated the steps leading from the apartment. My thoughts raced ahead of us: What is most exciting to you, my love? The jagged, snow-covered mountains in the distance? How about the shaggy stray cat that gave us a start when it darted out of the bushes to our right? Or the leafless trees revealing knobby and twisted branches only seen in the gray of winter?
“How do things look to you, Nancy?”
“Wonderful. Everything looks wonderful.”
When I made my way to the car after returning to the apartment for a mislaid wallet, Nancy was seated in the back seat of our Subaru. Jayna was firmly positioned in the front and had claimed the driver’s seat.
“Nancy, you should be up front.”
“Aren’t people with leukemia allowed to sit in the back seat?”
Our few hours out were unadulterated joy. Observing Nancy rediscover the world was like taking a refugee back to their native country after many years away. She became animated when we rode by the house Jayna will move into when we return to the mountains—pointing out the nearby grocery store, the white wooden fence, and the single large tree in the front yard with a rope swing on its lowest branch. She recounted in great detail the many TV commercials from her hospital stays as we walked down the aisles in the grocery store. When Nancy said in a very low voice, “Ho, Ho, Ho,” as we passed the Green Giant peas, Jayna almost dumped the shopping cart from a fit of laughter. Nancy stroked a fire hydrant outside the market like it was a young child, took three successive deep breaths through her nose when we entered a Starbucks coffee store, and gladly sampled five different ice creams at Baskin-Robbins before making a choice of flavors for her two scoops.
In the past, this would have been pretty unexciting stuff—but not today.
The most telling event of the afternoon happened just before we returned to the apartment. Jayna turned off the car ignition and dashed into the apartment for a “nature” call. By comparison, Nancy slowly exited our Subaru, exhausted but not in any way worse for the wear. Luckily, an old iron bench sits along the sidewalk leading to our apartment door. Nancy plopped on its wooden seat and as she turned to me said, “Just one more minute. I want to take a few more breaths of this fresh air. Can you smell the pine needles?”
Indeed, I could—but before I could answer, Nancy pointed at her feet.
“Look . . .” she exclaimed.
I didn’t see anything unusual, except Nancy slipping off her left sneaker and cautiously removing the wool sock.
“What are you doing?” I asked in alarm. “You’ll catch a cold.” (I could hardly believe my own words, knowing that temperature has nothing to do with cold germs.) I started to laugh at myself but then realized what Nancy was doing.
“It’s still alive!” she exclaimed in barely a whisper that made me wonder if she was speaking to me or just to herself.
As she talked, Nancy touched a single blade of green with her big toe. The shoot stood amid a large clump of grass colored the brown of winter. When I looked across the lawn in every direction, I saw only brown. After all, it is the end of January.
Nancy carefully put her sock and sneaker back on and extended her hand toward me. I pulled her directly into my arms and surrounded her with a huge hug. We went inside without speaking another word.
Summary: The fevers, weakness, and worries of Nancy’s last hospitalization are finally fading. She surprised everyone today, wanting to venture outside the apartment. Nancy greatly enjoyed rediscovering a world she hasn’t been able to be part of for a long while.
Best,
Winnie