This week I got a chance to spend an evening with a couple who are on the edge. His cancer is widespread, and time is not in their favor. In the past five months since his diagnosis, they have not changed their priorities, as much as they have come in for a closer look. They already knew they loved their adult kids, and granddaughter. But instead of seeing them when it works out, they are cramming visits in with intensity. This January they all went to Sedona to gaze at the red rocks and savor the sky. Ignoring the distance between them often they just start the car and go. The words that mean the most float to the top, while insignificant irritations sink to the bottom. There is an effort to jam ten years worth of hugs into the time left, and in most pictures they are touching. And smiling.

Because he is still here. 

Part way through the evening John left early. I realized too late that I missed the chance to hug him goodbye, and say I love him. Do I really need a crisis to come closer to the beauty of a shared life? 

But today is a new beginning, and the birds outside my window sing to the promise that awaits me if I come close.