1991-1992 was the year of treatment. With dad�s cancer only 15% are chemo responders and many of these eventually die of brain mets. But Dad was a responder! I remember rejoicing in that respite to enjoy our family and friends. SCA was a wonderful escape. Nothing like the scariness of real-life. Even the work was joy. Les and I were as active as we could be in our Canton and Barony, holding offices and working events. We had joined a household which encouraged our travel beyond the area. I saw Pennsic. But then word came that it was back. Brain mets. We would not dodge this and unfortunately, I knew what all this meant. We started radiation. More trips to Charleston. By now Mom was sicker too. Looking back it was like being in the surf, tired and knowing that another huge wave was gonna rush over you. Take a big gulp of air and just try to survive �til the next air. Christmas was not what we thought it would be.

I wanted to take him to Georgia to see his surviving family. He loved Georgia; so do I. Rolling hillsides dotted with cattle or carpeted with crops. I would have taken him in an ambulance if necessary but Mom felt she could not go and was afraid he would die away from her. So I honored her and their marriage. To this day I wonder if I was wrong not to take that trip.

I remember sometime after the New Year, I was fixing him something to drink or eat in the kitchen when he called me from the living room where he lay in his hospital bed. �Am I dying?� he asked. �Come on, I know you asked, � when I did not respond. With a catch in my throat, I said, �Yes, but not for a while yet.� He thought a moment and asked, �How soon.� I remember lying that I did not know before I came out and sat with him. I asked if he was scared and he said no. He asked, �What do you think it will be like?� I told him that I thought it was like falling asleep. One moment you were here and the next you woke in heaven and everyone would be there to greet him: his mom and dad, his sister and my sister. �Just a glimmer of time, Daddy� I said. �I hope so,� he said �That would be nice.�

In April I answered the phone to hear Dad had gone into a coma. Surprisingly, Les came in from work right at that moment. In crisis, I go into the �mode.� I turned to him and told him and asked him to take the girls next door so we could pack. He looked at me strangely and said, �We can�t. Christie has a rock up her nose.� I looked at him and then her and asked if this was true. There she was three and big blue eyed and she knew yes was the wrong answer so she shook her head no. �Do you, or do you not, have a rock up your nose!� I asked again, quite sternly I am sure. Big blue eyes nodded yes. So Les goes to the ER while Kate goes next door while I call and try to grease the skids to get him through in record time.

Hours, two doses of liquid cocaine and $1500 later, we deliver a sleeping five-year-old and a coked out three-year-old to Leslie�s sister�s. God love her, Christie was like Glen Close in �The Big Chill� crossing over her body in bed any number of times all night.

We raced to Charleston to sit vigil. My mother, four siblings, sib-in-laws. I remember sitting near his head, lying my face on his pillow to gently remind him it was okay and that it was just a glimmer of time.

That was nine years ago last week. Odd, it still feels just like that same glimmer of time. I miss you Daddy. I love you.