I learned about rallying because my cat did it.
My Simba. My baby of 15 years. Dying of lymphoma. One day he's almost gone, then suddenly, he's more himself than he's been in over a month.
He's rallying, they tell me. The dying get a sudden burst of life near the end. Once his rally runs out, it'll all go very quickly.
People do that, too.
My friend came to visit today. Unexpected. She's felt really well the last couple of days. As a doctor's wife, she knows all too well what that means.
That strength, that phenomenal strength I last saw, is failing her. She came to me with tears in her eyes. "This is so hard," she said, and held out her arms. She held me so tight, telling me over and over that she loves me, thanking me for all I've done - for her, her daughter, her family. Praising my kindness. Telling me what a gift I am. Somewhere inside me there was strength to hold back the flood. I kept my tears from spilling over as I told her I love her, that she's family to me.
I want to always remember how soft her hair was, from those times she asked me to "screw her head back on" and I did, from hugging her today.
I want to remember every kind word she's ever spoken about me - and there are so many! She has always praised my strength, my kindness, my cheerfulness, my helpfulness.
Dear God, please help me to always be the person she believes I am. Amen.
