As an oncologist, I deal with death on an almost daily basis. The hope – and, in many cases, the reality – is that cancer gets cured and death is pushed back as far as possible, into the distant future. When that isn’t the case, though, part of my job is counseling people on how to handle the reality of death, how to handle life when it is about to come to an end. I work with patients and with their families to get them through that time, with as little suffering as possible. I consider it an honor and a privilege to be there for them, in that time of vulnerability and powerlessness. I can make a difference during that time, and it is humbling to be able to do so.

The thing with cancer is that often, we can predict – to some degree – when death will occur. When death is predictable, there is time for last hugs and kisses, last moments of hand-holding, final goodbyes. And goodbyes are so, so important.

A friend of mine is hurting right now.  Jennie is about my age and she lives in New York. She has two young daughters, about the ages of my own children. Her husband died on Sunday, unexpectedly, with no time for goodbyes.

I’ve had a very hard time with this, harder than I expected. I think that many of us in this community – the food blogging community, and yes, the Twitter community – are struggling with grief and sadness for Jennie’s loss. This letter describes so well the feelings that so many of us are experiencing.

I told my husband I loved him yesterday morning when I walked out of the house to head to work. I tell him that every morning, but yesterday was different. I told him emphatically, with emotion, not just because it was habit but because I meant it.

I told him I loved him as if it were the last time he would hear it.

 

 

 

 

I have the post-vacation blues this week. I expected to be in a bit of a funk for a day or so, but it’s sticking around a bit longer than it should.

Is this what I get for having such a restful, carefree vacation?

We spent last week in Rosemary Beach, a gorgeous beach town in Florida’s panhandle. Some good friends of ours, with children around the same ages of Madeline and Oliver, came with us on the trip and shared the house with us. The house was huge,  three stories, and only a three minute walk to the beach and a two minute walk to the pool.  I brought my laptop but I let it sit, powered off and unopened, and eventually it became piled high with random articles of clothing. I finished one book and read another two books during the more relaxed moments of the trip. It rained many of the days, but that just gave me more time to read. I made sandcastles with my son, and I watched my daughter play on her boogie board until her shoulders were browned. I spent hours over cups of coffee – or glasses of wine or mojitos or sangria – deep in conversation with my dear friend. I didn’t exercise once, unless you count climbing the three sets of wooden stairs up and over the sand dunes each day.

It was a good week.

It’s hard to come back to my daily routine and responsibilities after such a blissful week away. I anticipated perhaps a day of getting adjusted, but not this. I don’t think it’s just post-vacation melancholy. It feels like something more.

I can feel summer dissipating.

The heat is still here. It’s not going anywhere until October, or maybe late September if we’re really lucky. It’s the sense of summer freedom that is disappearing, slipping away like a handful of sugary, white beach sand through my fingers. The fact that school starts in less than 3 weeks is a harsh reminder that the end of summer is near. Back-to-school supplies are in the stores and the meet-the-teacher date has been set. I had to order my daughter’s new school uniforms this week.

I love fall, I really do. It’s my favorite season. But I haven’t had enough summer yet.

I need more time.

For more on each photo, click through to my Flickr photostream.