held in the arms of gratitude

Tad and I met during a men's retreat five years and one month ago in a gorgeous valley in Northern California where lithium water gurgles out of the ground; a place called Saratoga Springs. We've tried to get back there several times since his leukemia diagnosis 15 months ago but each time he was too ill.

We've decided to return to Saratoga for the July 4th weekend since we've been experiencing an amazing period of respite from illness over the last two weeks (except for the two times he nearly fainted and scared the hell out of me and the moment of panic yesterday when the nurse suggested the implanted line that delivers blood parts and fluids directly above his heart may have shifted and no longer be in the right place - besides those little inconveniences...).

I imagine the relative absence of gut-wrenching symptoms is due to the fact that the last chemo is now nearly two months away and most of the toxicity has been flushed from his body. Also when the docs last checked his bone marrow, said chemo had done a good job at knocking the leukemia cells silly (but not completely gone). Three weeks ago he had a level of 8 or 9% of leukemia cells in his blood which for some patients is actually an acceptable level for a stem cell transplant.

We are heading to Stanford University Hospital tomorrow to meet with the oncologist recommended by the folks in Seattle (heretofore known as The Oracle). We will discuss a couple of treatment options in the hopes of getting back into lasting remission followed by a transplant. If Tad should decide this is what he wants of course it means more chemo and its consequences: loss of appetite, mouth sores, nausea, diarrhea, profuse sweating, loss of immunity, bone pain ie the trifecta times three to the third power. And of course we're being told that statistically there is more probability this won't work than the contrary. Not a simple decision to make.

Knowing that a storm awaits us has not made it easy for me to enjoy the relative calm of these beautiful summer days together in Santa Cruz. It's one thing to try to stay present with fears of some unknown cataclysm just around the corner such as an earthquake, global warming or I dunno...the rapture - it's quite another to know that a specific cataclysm awaits you. I dare you to stay in the joy of the moment. But after a few days we seem to have managed to let go of fearful thoughts of the future and settled into the serene life we love.

Tad has been rummaging through boxes of stuff, getting rid of accumulated junk - (a day I've been waiting for since we met!) Yesterday he had the radio in his car fixed while I took my car to the garage for a leaking something or other. We've been barbecuing, gardening, listening to music, watching silly movies (violent or graphic movies -- once his staple -- are now unbearable to him). Friends come and go, the cat keeps us amused and various nurses, social workers and physical therapists drop in now and again. Our life is sill punctuated by three visits each week to the local outpatient oncology unit where Tad receives blood parts donated by complete strangers which keep him alive. We've named this place the Vampire Suite.

We all know that this period may also be our preparation for the end of Tad's life. We were finally put in touch with a local palliative care team (palier in French = a landing on a staircase - hence this refers to care where the team meets you where you are at in your treatment). Unlike some of the local docs who appeared really frightened by how sick Tad had become and were recommending against any more chemo, the palliative care folks accept that Tad continue to be on a curative treatment plan while they surround him with the kind of supportive care he needs. It looks and feels a lot like hospice of course - and the truth is it's probably the same team - but there is no need for him to stop getting blood parts or to sign a "Do Not Resuscitate" order.

These broken fragile hearts of ours, ripped open by the arrival last April of noxious cells in Tad's bloodstream, are now enjoying the incredible beauty of living life here and now, of deep gratitude for each moment. We weep regularly in the face of a hug from a receptionist, a loving phone call from a friend or the memory of some beautiful moment from the last 61 months of life together. Astonishingly these are not tears of regret or bitterness over the cruel randomness of disease but rather gratitude and joy; rich, potent thankfulness for the many loving moments we've experienced and continue to experience.

So it only seemed fitting that I put back on the table a topic we hadn't mentioned for several months: a commitment ceremony. The wording is far less elegant than the more simple words "wedding" or "marriage" but that particular ceremony has been taken away from us by 50.5% of my fellow Californians who consider us second-class citizens and and somehow fear we will subvert the rite.

Last night as Tad and I prepared to curl up in bed to watch the totally forgettable "Get Smart"- a big bowl of popcorn at hand, Astra dozing at our feet and the IV pump ticking away - Tad gave me a ring he'd bought that day: a simple, slim, silver ring.

And so it's with immense pleasure that I announce (with Tad's permission) that Sunday at 4PM Pacific Time (7PM Eastern, midnight in GB and Ireland!), Tad and I will be wed in a ceremony officiated by Gregg Cassin.... Sadly none of our blood family will be in attendance. Tad and I have always had the fantasy of getting our two dads together because they are so much alike. It's clear to us they'd hit it off like a house on fire. But the very good news is we will be surrounded by some of the most loving, open-hearted men one could have the honor to meet. Just us and 140 of our best friends...

As an adult I had only actually attended weddings of influential people in France and Italy: aristocrats, famous people, wealthy heirs. It went with the territory of being a snob myself. These rituals were all about the clothes, the caterer, the house, the guest list. Then one day I attended my baby sister's wedding back in Michigan and it hit me like a ton of bricks: Weddings are about celebrating the love two people have for one another! They're a public acknowledgment and celebration where two people's deep attachment to one another and promise to take care of each other is proclaimed and purposely witnessed by their tribe.

It is in that spirit that Tad and I will celebrate the love we have for each other, an incredibly deep, mysterious love that has given us the courage we've needed to cross some rather murky waters.

Wherever you are in the world on Sunday July 3 I invite you to light a candle, take a bow, say a prayer or burn incense for the love that binds Vern Raymond Thaddeus Crandall and Gregory James Rowe.

May it spread to the world. May we all know peace and love.