Dinner was great, just the two of us. We talked and laughed like we were 22 again. Inevitably the talk turned to the inevitable. Now I guess it probably isn't good to listen to Joni Mitchell while I write but there it is. The chemos are not working. We celebrated three years which we both thought would never come, Order another cappucino martini. The wizard said, I need some time to think about this when confroted with the realization that things are not working. That stopped her dead in her tracks (pun intended).

"You know I never thought I would see three years." She said.

"Neither did I" I replied.

"But here we are."

"Yes we are", I said. I played with the fork and then my wine glass.

"It makes me sad." She was getting teary.

"What makes you sad?"

"To know I won't be around. I mean it doesn't make me cry or anything but it makes me sad.
I'm not ready."

"I'm not ready either."

"You'll be okay though. We planned it well enough. I have about 300,000 in insurance and you have about 150 in insurance on me and we have our investments. You should be able to pay off the house and live off what you make. It will be all right."

"I'll miss you." I said it.

"I'll miss you too.Molly will be allright, Lilli too. Sam's okay now."

"Yep. It will be okay, I'm just not ready."

"Me either." she said.

We left it at that. It is just too tough to face except in small dooses. This dose was enough.
So we filled the remaining time talking about the abstract thinking that our children show and whether the short rib cannaloni was really a cannaloni or just a filled pancake.

Wine finished, martini done, we walked out into the night. The air stung our cheeks and her hand felt so right in mine.