Hope.

Cancer makes you hope for death.
In the beginning, you hope for renewal, strength, and healing.
Some people get that. 
Many people don't.

My Aunt Reta was wonderful.
She had an incredible garden
and a fantastic laugh,
and didn't care what people thought of her.

And her cancer, after the fight,
left us praying for rest
to come fast.

And yesterday, it finally came.

I saw her last in October, just after she'd been given her
three weeks to live.

The last time I saw her, she was bright and feeling well,
nothing like a woman about to die,
She had a fantastic wig, and
it was an idyllic, perfect autumn day.

I thought of taking time to photograph her,
and refused to do it.
Because that would mean I was accepting that the
end was near.
My own act of solidarity and defiance, I suppose.
I don't regret it.

She hugged me tight and a little long,
we said goodbye, and
I'm grateful that's how I remember her.