A Warning Sign

I don't care much for July even though that has not always been the case. As a child I associated July with a warning sign..."Summer is about half-way over so you had better be getting the most of it." As an adult I associated it with spending time away from work, usually getting out of town, and doing some things as a family. Now, July is a glaring symbol of loss; the warning sign has changed. It was this week of July last year that we gave up. I recall clearly that July 2nd afternoon that we decided that there would be no more drugs and no more transfusions. This was the day that we admitted our failure to cure Paul and that his death was now practically assured in the few weeks to follow. Cancer was going to win. I threw my biggest tantrum that week. I cursed just about everything. And, then we settled into the routines that marked Paul's last two weeks. We are almost a year into living our lives without Paul; this month shines the brightest light on that fact. Evenso, I still can't comprehend it.