Trish, in tears, saying good-bye to her trapeze instructors.
AWWWWW! yelled the audience of 200 drunk french vacationers. On a beach in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic, I lay face down, wearing nothing but sparkly lavender tights. Spotlights shone on me brightly in the tropical night air. My big nose poked through the thick cords of the trapeze rig net and I rested for a few moments. I had missed the trapeze catch and disappointed the inebriated, loud crowd. (Sadly there are no photos of this event.)
Trish went after me, and being better by a lot, caught her set split trick gracefully. She raised her arms and smiled, showgirl like. She was a born circus performer. Eventually I got my turn again, and the crowd cheered wildly when I made the catch.
I’m back on the road, and don’t have to tell you how good it feels. The next 10 days are to be spent in Vietnam, entirely for adventure travel and no work.
The kids are going their own ways. Lily heads to California to spend time with Trish’s family and Emma joins her there after a 5 day middle school trip to Quebec, ostensibly for her French class.
Trisha Diane Smith was born on October 6th 1964 at 2:06 AM to the parents of Suzanne Cogen and Paul Smith of Los Angeles, California. It was, like this year, an election contest; conservative Barry Goldwater vs. establishment Lyndon Johnson. The Los Angeles Times headline that day was “U.S. Increases Vietnam Forces.”
From her earliest moments of life, Trish liked to sleep. Her mom reports that she slept nearly 12 hours straight a night at 6 weeks old. Later in life she could be counted on to sleep no matter how much coffee she drank, jet-lagged she might be, or noisy it was around her. Sleep was the place of dreams, of other worlds to explore. She identified with the Ralph Wiggum line – ‘Oh boy sleep! That’s where I’m a Viking!’
It’s Wednesday, September 26th, 2012. I’ve fallen to my knees on the kitchen floor. Grief sweats from every pore and I’m hyperventilating for the first time in my life. My eyes have narrowed to tunnel vision and my body is tingly and losing feeling.
Trish reads trash at the Oncologist hoping to get some chemo.
As we got home from the Oncologists office Thursday night, Trish quickly began to fade. In retrospect, I think the news that she couldn’t get treatment for a fourth time was so devastating that she lost some of her will and hope.
She stopped eating and drinking, barely got out of bed even to pee, and slept. We were saddened to see her uncomfortable, but the severe anemia makes you lethargic, so it wasn’t particularly alarming.