HOLDING MY HAND

Captain Poolie at a long ago Christmas Party.

We celebrated George’s birthday several weeks in a row.  With food.  Doesn’t everyone.  I tried to be circumspect about it, but G just lived with a certain abandonment.

One week rib roast with Apple Brown Betty and a sparkler.  This week, first it was a shrimp in lemon, garlic, butter sauce…followed by deep friend ice cream.  He says it was good.  Today was a humongous breakfast of giant crispy French toast that the manager comped and G turned down.  He did have his discount coupon after all.  We ate a simple soup and salad dinner.

We debated going to see Poolie tonight.  Last night she was in tears saying she didn’t want to die.  She’s only two years older than George.  We did go to visit and found a long line of visitors from her old church.  They were kind and let us in then told us the news.

They told her she could go home with palliative care.  She was told also that the cancer would return.  If it did, her cancer doc told her, that any further treatment would kill her.

Her constant companion and caretaker, Pam, understands at last.  Poolie doesn’t.  She doesn’t want palliative care.  We understand.  Accepting palliative care means she is going to die.

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• Himself:  Got off work a little early, got a really superior Padre’s coat, and a marvelous antique Hawaiian shirt at my store.  Then we ate at Guadalajara last night.  He’s going to help me pin the quilt tomorrow.
• Herself:  Still eating soft foods.  He took me to Amvets this morning so I could look for a sweater or two.
• Reading:  “Hell’s Corner,” Baldacci.
• Gratitude’s:  That I have G to hold my hand.