More gray skies and drizzle greeted us today. Nicholai, Izzy, and I tromped along the beach and environs at Kelley Point Park in North Portland. The clouds reflected my inner world, where concerns for my sister's well-being ricocheted around my guts, unable to find peace.
A visit to my chiropractor, whose gentle touch promotes harmony, brought my breath deeper, rounder, and fuller. As I walked again, this time along the Sandy River, I remembered to take more cues from Nicholai. Let the doctors and the tests proceed, let them make their assessments, measurements, and prognostications. But don't forget to feel the breath in your body, the ground underfoot, the fresh air on your face. These are measures too; measures of aliveness and assessments of connectedness to the world.
The prognosis for Nicholai was grim. Now four months past the best prognosis we had hoped for, he still ignores the dictates of his disease. I wish I could be more like him in this regard; get up each morning, chow down breakfast, revel in nature, laugh at cancer.
Oh wait; that is exactly what I do.
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