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Cancer, my way 

A reporter's most difficult story

Page 4 of 4

Now, when the enormity of all this gets a tad too enormous, it is a comfort beyond description to believe in a "controlling legal authority." My church, Druid Hills United Methodist, has been all a place of worship can be when one of its members suffers.

The only unmanageable fear is the picture of my son without his daddy, the mere thought of which causes tears to well up. I manage the unmanageable by pulling a Scarlet O'Hara -- only, I have no intention of thinking about it tomorrow either. Linda would, I think, be fine without me and arguably in some ways better off, although she is kind enough to insist that this is not so. One of my funnier friends has made discreet inquiries about how long a wait would be appropriate before he could hit on her.

I have leaned hard and she has been there. In some ways after all, this is harder on the living. She has kept her demons at bay, only allowing me a glimpse at them when they threaten to explode.

I don't mean to leave the impression that I am too enchanted with this whole thing. But it has been a more beautiful experience than I could reasonably have expected, more fulfilling than any other time of my life. I am more vibrant and alive because of the whiff of death.

If it sounds as if I'm having a little too much fun with all of this ... sue me. Having cancer means you can thumb your nose. I have pretty shamelessly exploited the consideration people have for the dying. Sue me.

It is my hope to do more writing for this publication in the future. If that doesn't work out let me take this opportunity to say to you this: It's a beautiful life ... don't waste a moment of it ... be here now ... and may your God hold you in the palm of his hand.

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