Cancer Chronicles Nineteen

For many years I could not decide who my favorite and/or best teacher was. A couple of years ago I said it was my high school French teacher. She was annoyingly self-congratulatory, but I did remember French and in particular the subjunctive tense.
I was wrong.
Recently I realized that my best teacher is my wife.
Over forty-four years of marriage I have learned more about Kabballah, Gnosticism, Biblical archaeology, Knights Templar—I could go on but I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging.
She has been a life-long reader, and she shares it all with me.
Sometimes the books are about something I don’t want to know but that doesn’t stop her. She just finished one about a murder in 1800s New York. A bodyless head floated along the East River, and the cops and reporters had to find out who it was. My wife insists on teaching me that this is a scary world we live in and we have to be careful.
Now she’s reading about the origin of King Arthur. According to this book Arthur lived around 600 A.D. This is better than the floating head story.
Most of all, she has taught me the grace, humor and courage needed to face the ongoing trauma of battling cancer. I’m learning the patience of waiting for the time when we can resume the joyful adventures of experiencing life and not just reading about them.

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