oh, rowan; what mind and heart-melting news.  wendy and i offer this sublime poem...to an exquisite poet, and would read it to her twice a day if we could.  our love to both of you as she transitions, and we heartily accept her embraces.

steve davis

White Owl Flies Into and Out of the Field

Coming down out of the freezing sky
with its depths of light,
like an angel, or a Buddha with wings,
it was beautiful, and accurate,
striking the snow and whatever was there
with a force that left the imprint
of the tips of its wings — five feet apart —
and the grabbing thrust of its feet,
and the indentation of what had been running
through the white valleys of the snow —
and then it rose, gracefully,
and flew back to the frozen marshes
to lurk there, like a little lighthouse,
in the blue shadows —
so I thought:
maybe death isn’t darkness, after all,
but so much light wrapping itself around us —
as soft as feathers —
that we are instantly weary of looking, and looking,
and shut our eyes, not without amazement,
and let ourselves be carried,
as through the translucence of mica,
to the river that is without the least dapple or shadow,
that is nothing but light — scalding, aortal light —
in which we are washed and washed
out of our bones.

~ Mary Oliver

Kelly and Rowan:

Wendy Davis was kind enough to forward Rowan’s post advising those of us who love you both of your current and obviously heartbreaking circumstances.

In real life, I’ve had two close female friends who have died of cancer. One of whom put her faith in western medicine and endured surgery and endless rounds of chemotherapy. And it was she who died miserably, in hospital, rallying her wit to quote Oscar Wilde: “…either I or the wallpaper must go.” The other, Deborah Bonnier, was my closest friend when I lived in Miami. She endured surgery and one round of chemo and, after that horrific experience, then decided that she would prefer to die sooner rather than later if she could be at home, surrounded by the people she loved. (I wrote about her on TPM, as I so admired her courage and dignity.)

So. Given the disparity of their individual experience, I respect and admire you for having the courage that Deborah had to value quality of life over length of life.

After she died, I rewrote my living will, to reflect her choices. So I understand your choices, with which I concur.

Ti amo, je t’aime, I love you,

Wendy