“How are you?”—the quintessential American greeting to friend or stranger (or customer in a mall shop), sometimes following “Hello”, sometimes in place of it.
I am walking with a cane now—new this past week—and people respond to it. This borrowed genuine Irish shillelagh cane—used by Lorraine’s late father—is an accessory that says, Disabled. A cab driver offered to walk me to the door of my destination. The building super said, “Let me know if there is anything I can do for you.” One of the adorable little guys who call me Grammy said, “Do you want something? I will ask Daddy to reach it for you.”
“How are you?” is spoken in a solicitous tone.
Last week, just before the cane and the last time I felt comfortable walking alone on the street, I saw a young woman paused on the corner waiting for the light, jogging in place, touching knees to elbows waiting for the light to change. I flashed back to kick boxing classes in my 50s, jumps from planes, death marches with Carolyn in heels and carrying shopping bags. Six months ago I could walk for miles.
That was then, the historic then. This cancer is moving so fast that even a week ago was “then.”
The young woman waiting for the light brought a smile to my face. Life goes on even though we don’t. She smiled back at me, a big, wide smile of perfect understanding.
I am working on Dying, the book, so the posts will be brief. You will have to buy the book after I’m gone to get the rest of the story. Humbly, I tell you that I have given away more writing than most writers do. (That’s not counting the work done for deadbeat clients.) There’s a wealth of information on SexyPrime, all of it free. Peruse the categories on the right. Enjoy.
IF YOU'VE MISSED THE PREVIOUS POSTS--
Dying, The End Game, Part Six: A Quickie on Questions People Ask
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