My friend and mentor Rita Harrison was diagnosed with Stage 4 Brain cancer on December 26. The surgeons said they stopped counting the lesions at 20. The oncologist’s prognosis: “two weeks or a short month.”

Today is February 29, 2020, Leap Day. Rita is still with us, a thin wisp compared to the forthright, kick-ass woman who used to leave me puffing during our “short, German walks.” When she smiles, her light shines through and I recognize for a moment.

She has beat the odds, exceeded expectations, and every day there is as much reason for hope as despair. As the patient who has decided she wants to live, her game plans include the “as well as” she has advocated throughout her career as a healer. Radiation, the latest hormone therapy, accepting light, an invitation to her estranged son, birch water, a massage with Latschenkiefer (mountain pine) are among the things she has undertaken and requested. Some days her husband Paul is unsure if her desires are based in method, meds or madness.

Despite her desire for a “collaboration,” the doctors are too mired in their fears to dare. Hospice, they recommend, and since she refuses, they continue their due diligence of providing the kind of care disconnected from that Living Life to its Fullest thing. To call it wretched and regale you with horror stories is old news. There are a million tales out there of how the System has failed us.

So what does living or dying look like today? That Rita woke up at 4 am asking for a Guinness? That she cannot stand on her own accord but wants to do therapeutic horse riding? That one moment we are paralyzed by the fear that Rita won’t be with us tomorrow, the next we plan our move to a new apartment with a breathtaking view of the ocean. Paul says that he will never be able to enjoy Christmas or New Year or Valentine’s Day celebrations again. So he looks elsewhere for moments of joy…and they are there.

Please continue to visit and donate at https://www.gofundme.com/f/willow-syster.