By slug
Date: 30 December 2000
Della
Christmas Eve that year wasn't pleasant. Sure, it was the first time since their fiftieth wedding anniversary that all seven of the children and their spouses were together. It was the first time in much much longer than that that the six grandchildren were also present. The entire family, except for the matriarch. The minister said some kind things, but she hadn't been religious so they were generic. Until he handed the minister a slip of paper that had been on her desk. No one remembers now quite what it said, exactly, but the gist of it was clear and proven in the tightly knit family circle on the lawn. Cancer will slowly destroy you from the inside out, but it still can't touch you. Testamonials of a life well lived and well loved sprang from mouths clouded with tears, and seeped out in whispers that were barely audible. And all the time, as her legacy was speaking he just sat and listened, his own stories going through his head. 53 years of life (love) together. Children and road trips and grandchildren, bickering and making up. Taking care of each other. The things that count. It didn't matter that they had no political discussions. It mattered that she never left his side after the stroke a few years back. It matters that the doctors said six months and he got to keep her for 18. And even longer - her presence is everywhere - even at the overflowing christmas dinner table. A table that was over-compensating, and randomly breaking down only to be built back up again. She was toasted and praised. And i noticed that she wasn't so gone. We all have her - i have her hands, i heard her laugh, i saw her smile. Cancer can't kill that. Cancer isn't so powerful when you see it like that. In fact, it's as if she was merely spread out into little segments and absorbed into us. And we live.
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