DONIS CASEY: Write Errant

I’m very glad to say goodbye to September 2026, Dear Readers. In fact summer of 2026 has been something of a trial all around. Dear friends have passed on, two dear friends have suffered the loss of their grown sons, Don has had eye surgery and is looking forward (not) to a heart procedure in the next few weeks, and my sister’s beloved adult daughter Abby has just endured more than a month in the hospital in Houston, 600 miles from her home in Missouri, as she battles cancer and endless infections. Her intrepid mother and father, also from Joplin, have stayed with her in Houston for the entire time. As of last report, Abby’s being sprung to go home in a week or so. The ordeal isn’t over, of course, but at least she’ll be able to battle the disease while sleeping in her own bed.

My dear, wise, friend Kevin in Oklahoma, whom I have known since God was a boy, was the primary caregiver for both his father and his uncle during their final illnesses. He and I correspond about the difficulties of aging, illness, caregiving, and generally what it all means to be alive and mortal. Not long ago he sent me an email that was so incredibly spot-on about this situation that I can do no better than to share part of it with you: 

I think part of the joy of these medical situations is that you never have any idea of when things are going to change. I remember thinking during my various experiences, “Surely we’ll know more after the next appointment” or the next procedure or the next whatever. A corner is about to be turned.  But I think the corners may only become apparent in retrospect. It’s kinda like torture, it just goes on without end. Despite being aware of this at some level, when I talk to my grade-school, truck-driving friend (the truck-driving came after grade school), regarding his ailing wife, I still catch myself saying “maybe you’ll know more after the next…”.