when superman left the treatment facility
to return to the daily planet

underwear
undershirt
socks
and shoes
with laces that stayed tight
on your daily walks

the wedding band
with a fading date
kept close
inside the ring

the loop of
gold chain
with children’s names
on the chai
slipped over head

your glasses
slipped over your ears

your hair
patted down
and
neatly parted
on the side

the non slip socks
from the hospital
saved
in a coat pocket

you exit
thru the entrance

looking up

not a bird
not a plane
in sight

- Jeff

Today, at 10 AM, marks 5 years exactly that I walked out of the radiation treatment lab for the final time, dressed, and waved to my wife who was sitting in the small waiting room at the back. She met me by the elevator doors where we put our arms around each other and I said, “done – let’s go home.”

Five years. The magic window.

I think sometimes it was sheer stubbornness that got me through – and that I remained somewhat blissfully ignorant of what may, or may not, have been ahead of me. Even my oncologist, at a 2 year followup, said to me, “we had a lot of hills to climb with you.” That was the only time I ever heard a note of concern in his voice. I think that’s why we were a good match – you just move forward, any hint of damage and defeat is put to the side.

One thing I’m also certain of, I didn’t do it alone. I was joined as much by friends and family and some good people here. Although I’ve never met you personally, the connection with another human being has an incredible amount of power. Never underestimate it.

Five years may be long in calendar but short in a lifetime. And it takes that long to really understand the adventure you’ve been though.

Thanks for joining me on the road.

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