It is a grey day.
Not the sort of grey day in autumn that makes the colour of the dropping leaves stand out, just a damp, misty, miserable, grey day. It makes me realise that for some of us it would be a grey day no matter what the weather. Friends who have to manage where they are, or where their partner is - feeling as if the mist and dampness is closing in around them.
It is not that sort of grey day for me. Carrot-top and Blondie, with their mum have been around already. Taken the Chief of Domestic Operations off to do a market somewhere. Their eyes lighting up when they see me, arms outstretched saying, lift me up, I want out of this car restraint, I want to play. When that happens the sun is shining brightly no matter what the day.
Why is it so important to me that I survive until they can remember me? That I even want to be remembered? That I have told my specialist that they have to keep me going for at least another five years, and that five years will be a constant horizon, never fixed, always projected.
It is a grey day. Damp, misty and miserable. Even the leaves as they drop seem drained of colour. But that is out there. In here, it is bright, the sun shines and two little boys make cancer seem a long way away.
...Yet still, even more now, my spirit within me
Drives me seaward to sail the deep,
To ride the long swell of the salt sea waves.
Never a day but my heart's desire
Would launch me forth on the long sea path...
The Seafarer circa 1900's