For Jean

She was too young. So much energy, so many things to do, daughters to finish raising. I only met her a few times. The first time was in the infusion room. Despite receiving poisons intravenously, if you are not medicated into sleep, it's a rather nice place. The best view in Boulder, looking straight up past the Foothills to the snow covered continental divide. Yet we all have cancer and live with a strange blend of fear and acceptance. We talk about life, not about our illness. We make plans; we celebrate the day to day; we take care of our families even while they are taking care of us.

She was planning a trip to California with her girls. She was also planning the local Relay for Life. We soon realized we both had ovarian cancer, the "other" women's cancer, the one that's not pink, the one that most people respond with a look that says "oh, shit". But we had learned to dance with it. To live fully when we had the energy, and even when we didn't. And we prayed that we were the ones who were going to beat the odds, to hang in there until they found a cure, or at least another drug that would buy us a few more, precious years. Jean, time ran out too soon. You were the one who really was supposed to beat the odds.