Courage in a Norwegian sweater

Cancer was the diagnosis.

A few weeks later, she came to church with a brightly-colored scarf covering her head. Tired, but determined. The battle was under way. Her armor was a Norwegian sweater. It kept her warm, she said.

“How are you doing?” I asked her children. “It must be hard.”

“It is,” they nodded. Their gazes were steady, but their eyes were hopeful.

When her treatment was finished, her happiness was palpable, her hope contagious. Her hair sprouted, then grew back in beautiful waves.

Her birthday that year was a double blessing. One year cancer-free. Thanksgiving took on extra meaning.

Moving forward: Children grow. Careers progress. Travel. Friends. Life.

One autumn, tumors grew.

The sweater came back on. The turban returned. 

“More time” was her wish. “More time” was our prayer.

A precious year of days and milestones – each one cherished.

Today, her family surrounds her. They nuzzle memories and kiss her hands. 

My heart alternately sings and grieves for them. I will consider the gift of each new day differently because of her.

I regard this October day, the glorious color of the sky, the turning leaves, the nip of fall.

And I hope her sweater and the whispered prayers of grateful friends are keeping her warm.