On Point

Two weeks

By: Linda McCarthy
Today I said goodbye to my old friend, Kathy. Last month the doctors told her she had about two weeks to live and for once they were right. She was 48, had two children and bravely fought cancer for a year. Normal people would be devastated by that news. Neither my friends nor I have ever been accused of being normal.
   When she was first diagnosed with breast cancer, things moved quickly. She was a big woman so when her left breast was removed it was no minor surgery. The day she came home from the hospital, her nephew came to visit her and announced he and some friends were going to Hooters for dinner. She called after him as he was leaving, "Pick me up an application! I can be a hoot!" This simple exchange set the tone for how she would handle her illness. We laughed at every totally inappropriate thing we could for a solid year. I think it helped her. I know it helped me.
   Kathy was in the midst of a divorce during her medical struggle. She and her ex-husband were negotiating alimony when Kathy went straight from chemo to the hearing and purposely left her wig behind. She won that round.
   His name came up again several months later when we were sitting around drinking smelly drinks (her term for alcohol) and putting together a "list." She made me a little nervous when she reasoned that two weeks in a prison hospice would be worth it. Luckily for him, her health declined too rapidly to act on her impulses.
   Her illness took a toll on her parents who, by default, became her primary caregivers. Her mom compulsively cleans when she is stressed. I just eat. Needless to say I could eat off her floors. On day a bird flew into her sparkling windows and knocked itself out. Kathy’s mom called to her husband, "Bob, come here quick and bring the shovel. Be merciful — if you think it’s going to die hit it in the head!" Kathy countered with, "I’m sitting right here and I can hear you!" She told her sister, "Call 911 if Daddy comes in her room with garden tools."
   One of Kathy’s favorite sayings was, "If it ain’t fleas, it’s ants." We both used it often to describe the condition of our less-than-charmed lives. With this in mind it was only a mild surprise when her father was diagnosed with kidney cancer about two months ago. Since that time he has been putting off the surgery he needs because he doesn’t want to miss Kathy’s funeral.
   In an unspoken deal, neither allowed the other to pull the "C-card" very often. The week before my anniversary party, which was just a month ago, she was on my deck wrapping silverware. He committed to putting up my mega-sized tent. The rule: nobody dies and nothing gets removed until the big shindig is over.
   The big shindig is over. In the ultimate holiday rush we threw together one last Christmas for her last week. She bought pearls for her daughter’s "someday" wedding and silver baby rattles for her "someday" grandchildren. She gave matching silver bracelets to her four sisters, engraved with "Sisters Forever."
   Kathy quietly said goodbye last Thursday morning surrounded by her family. Amidst the gentle sobbing, her sister Karen whispered, "Kathy, now’s the time to tell everyone I was your favorite." They all laughed.
   
   Linda McCarthy resides in Robbinsville with her husband and three children.