Karen's Journey

...But at my back I always hear  Times winged chariot drawing near...                                                                              --Andrew Marvell Part I, Early 2016: An older gentleman walks three miles around our neighborhood every day -- rain, snow, sleet, or occasionally, shine. Stickman, we called him until I asked his name, dubbed for the large stick he carries swinging and twirling first in one hand and then the other, back and forth as he walks, to get an upper body workout along with his daily constitutional. I see him often from my office window, and I smile. He's become part of my life, my daily routine, a bright moment in generally an otherwise gray and stress filled day. I admire him for his perseverance. Three miles a day, every day. He tells me that he used to run, but his knees eventually gave out, so now he walks. He has aged noticeably in the eleven years we've lived in this house. He walks more slowly, swings the stick less st

I started a post titled The Last Time  in the spring of 2016. I wasn't happy with the ending. It was too glib, but I didn't know where to go with it, so I pressed pause on publishing it. Now almost two years of loss later, I'm ready to write the ending. But first, a glimpse into my life since that spring, and some insight into why I've reached a place where the ending will probably write itself. In late March of that year, my older sister was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and my life fell apart. I sobbed and sobbed wondering how I could possibly live through saying goodbye to my first friend in life -- and turn into the oldest sibling -- within two to six months. The irony of having just written a post about the "last time" wasn't lost on me. I couldn't stand to even think about it.    We received semi-good news though -- her tumor is a neuroendocrine pancreatic tumor, which, at the time, meant a prognosis of three to ten years, based on therap