Refuge

They come to me in the evening with wide smiles and hugs, but there are creases in the corners of their eyes.

As we drive home, I ask about their flight and about the children. When we get to the house, they wheel their suitcases to the room at the far end of the house. The air is cool there, and the trees outside the window are leafy and green. The light is fading and shadows move among the foliage. The room is furnished with mismatched pieces collected through the years, but the bed is wide and firm with several pillows.  On the maple dresser, the lamp casts a soft yellow light.

Supper is ready to eat -- hot soup made with herbs from the garden with fresh bread and cheese.  Sometimes Lisa and Mike join us to liven the conversation.  Worried children call often on the telephone. After the dinner dishes are dispatched, everyone settles down to bed.

The next morning, the household is up early.  Our visitors go without breakfast and we drive to the Cancer Center for a day of appointments.  At the end of the day, the doctors give us good news and we head out to the car for the drive home, nervous relief filling our chests.

They leave before dawn the following day.  While life can never be as it once was, they imagine how it is to breathe normally again.