Errance Mentale: when we believe it, we'll see it.

You are about to read an account of my last road trip with my late wife, Glory Ashu. Before we continue, I owe you an explanation of why I pursue this somber and emotional route of rendering accounts of a story that does not end well. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DkwMPBShkGw First of all, writing is promoted by the fierce urgency of now. I am morphing into an old man with each passing day. My mortality surrounds me like a warm coat on a winter night. I take comfort in the fact that I will die one of these days, having done the best with the cards I was dealt by life. I want my children to have a lot of literature crafted by me. I want them to understand me, and I can achieve that goal through this digital footprint. Secondly, I can share my experience with Glory and show you what an extraordinary person she was.  So, here we go... When was the last time you had some blood work done? Have you evaluated your conversations with your PCP, and have you been leading those conversations? M

December 17, 5:13 PM. I was almost done with Eyong's shower. The phone rang as I put her on my lap to dry her up. Thinking it could be Glory calling, I made Eyong sit on the toilet and rushed to the dresser where the phone lay. It was Martin, and I was slightly disappointed that it was not Glory, so I picked it up and went back to the bathroom to assist Eyong.  "C'est comment?" he asked. I replied in French that all was ok. He went straight to the point: "Sabine m'a dit que Glory l'a informe qu'elle a le cancer du foi?" he asked.  I could communicate in French, and I heard what he had said, but the words he put together weaved a surreal meaning. And as my consciousness obstinately buoyed the impact to the surface, my knees suddenly felt soft, and they could not hold my weight. I felt the bathroom spinning, and I crumbled to the floor with the phone in my ears. No, I managed to reply, breathing hard to regain my composure. I trembled. "Glory