"We're going on a one mile walk," I explain, "and not a hunting safari!"
"Hold my tiara," she continues without missing a beat.
Taking it from her, I sigh.
Six months into a national pandemic and quarantine, a great deal's happened. I was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer, had a stent inserted so the bile escapes from my body, a biopsy, aborted major surgery, major surgery, two months of recovery but they didn't get all the cancer so the Grim Reaper keeps reminding us that, regardless of how much better I get, time's running out.
"Che, we need to walk so Daddy will be around for a long time."
"Here Da," our three year old says handing me a magic wand.
I finally laugh, juggling her things while trying to keep her pace.
It's been a tough time.
Not just for me. Sarah's had it worse.
After being my care giver, she navigates us through the treacherous American Health Care system, juggles the unrelenting demands of three teenage daughters, has a 3 year old who relies on us for EVERYTHING, cares for 40 patients with Developmental Disabilities and can't seem to find any time to do things just for herself.
The girls are all nuts! Maddie's boyfriend at the University of Georgia has COVID-19 and she can't see him because he's quarantined. Laurel gleefully plays the cancer card every day to make certain her plans work out as she likes. Thirteen year old Cassidy's finally emerging from the horrific experience of being 12, leaves her room with more regularity and suddenly seems human again.
Che hands me a rock to carry with the gun, tiara and magic wand.
This is followed with a flower.
Che skips and sings around me.
I think to myself ... She's much closer to God and every day takes me another step away while I take steps closer to God every day. Is this our passing of ships in the night or is there enough time to even leave some lasting thoughts of what I look like ... how we play together ... my voice ... how much I love your mother and you can take it as an example of what to strive toward?
The sun is beating down on this part of the walk and my body feels as it's carrying tiny bags of wet cement.
Startling me, Che's tiny hand grabs mine.
"Let's go home Da."
