Hubby and I lived with a couple different expiration dates. At time of diagnosis—because he was relatively young and in good shape and because prostate cancer is slow growing—the experts gave him two years. A little later, a different doctor projected another five years of life.
He beat both expiration dates.
Snow-shoeing in the Cascade Mtns nine years after Hubby’s terminal diagnosis
I’m dog-sitting two beautiful girls. 14-year-old Sadie and 2-year-old Charlie. Both Labrador retrievers, but Charlie has an added mix of crazy energy.
A pine cone from the yard is her favorite go-to *ball.* The first time we came indoors after playing, Charlie snagged a decorative pine cone off my desk. Look what I found! Does this mean we can keep playing fetch?!
I made her drop it and — while gathering up other low-lying pine cones — Charlie found a softer ball.
“If you didn’t mean for me to play fetch with this ball, you shouldn’t have left it in a basket on the floor.”
A year ago, not too long after Hubby died, I relocated to Southern California where I learned to stay off the 405 during certain hours; enjoyed fabulous fish tacos from a hole-in-the-wall place on Venice Beach; rode DIL Denise’s pink-rimmed bike to grocery store, beach, post office.
Hubby referred to himself as a realist. But he was really a pessimist, this cautious man with his strong, analytical, computer-programmer brain. Whenever I came up with a brilliant idea—which was quite often—he was quick to point out everything that could possibly go wrong.
Hubby: “What if (fill in the blank) happens?”
Me: “But what if it doesn’t?”
We made a great team. He kept me thinking realistically about his cancer; I encouraged him to live well with cancer and plan beyond the ‘due date’ projected by the doctor.
Which means this thought from Robert Brault resonates with me:
An optimist is someone who figures that taking a step backward after taking a step forward is not a disaster, it’s more like a cha-cha.
Photo credit: Pixabay
I used my widow card the other day. But it must have expired. Because it didn’t work. Maybe I should quit using my situation as a means of manipulation, or as an excuse, ya think?
Photo credit: Pixabay
This text from Daughter Summer a couple weeks ago: “I’m playing around with the idea of going to an adoption conference in Seattle. I was wondering if you’d be available to meet me there and hang out.”
A twelve-hour, round-trip drive — alone — over mountain passes to Seattle from Oregon — in winter — is probably a little on the impractical side.
Taking the ferry from Seattle to Bainbridge Island
On our last road trip together — through Yellowstone down into Colorado and the orange canyons of southern Utah — Hubby was watching for wildlife.
Photo credit: Unsplash
I, on the other hand, was watching for barns.
If you could simplify your life, would you? I don’t know who Mark Buchanan is, but apparently he knows me. Because I’m pretty sure he wrote this about me:
I cannot think of a single advantage I’ve ever gained from being in a hurry. But a thousand broken and missed things, tens of thousands, lie in the wake of all the rushing … Through all that haste I thought I was making up time. It turns out I was throwing it away.
Photo credit: Unsplash
I didn’t know I was marrying the most thoughtful and kind man in the world. I didn’t know he would keep me laughing until the end. I didn’t know he’d always put me and the kids first.
Photo credit: Pixabay
Always.
With love in the air and roses on sale for $25 per dozen and Valentine’s Day looming up ahead, this question:
Would you still marry your spouse if you knew you would walk beside him/her with aching heart as they endured cancer treatment; loss of appetite, loss of weight; became childlike before taking a final breath sooner — oh, so much sooner — than you had imagined? Would you still marry?
Of course you would. Because the sweet years with your husband, your wife would be worth the pain of loss.
Copyright © 2026 Marlys Johnson
