The weekend before, we had had our last moving sale and had nearly cleared out our very overladen house in California. We’d sold as much of our accumulated lives as possible–a 125 years (sum of our two ages) combined total of collecting art as well as material and tools for making art. We were shedding the detritus of our old lives to begin a new life in the house we had just purchased in Mexico. Our van was fully packed with not one inch of spare space other than a place for our cat and two more suitcases we would add when we finally took off for our retirement in Mexico. We had only one more appointment–to talk to our doctor about the results of Bob’s last physical examination, which had included an ultrasound.
We’d been on a high for months as we prepared to head out for our new dream life, but that dream turned into a nightmare as the doctor announced his verdict. Pancreatic cancer. He told us that Bob had 4 to 9 months to live. He actually lived only 3 more weeks.
(Update: Based on all the comments I’ve received, I have posted an addendum here.)
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Mountaintops and Valleys.” Describe a time when you quickly switched from feeling at the top of the world to sinking all the way down (or vice versa). Did you learn anything about yourself in the process?