On time we all have our ways of marking time.
As a freelance writer, my life is measured from
one story to the next. I bought my first camera
while I was on the assignment covering school
gambling. My niece was born in the middle of
a long story of The Prevention of Cruelty to Animals Act.
She entered primary school along with a pack of
anonymous sources of illegal workers in a small
sea-port town who and whose family has been
treaded poorly by their owners.

Twenty some stories later, though, it’s the story
on World’s most prominent Dog Show that I’ll
remember most. It was about the sense of fame
and disappointment—and the story during which
my friend’s wife got cancer. That’s the one that
made time stand still.

Kathy and Brad met at a blues bar in college.
She had long blond hair and thought he was funny.
Beautiful, graceful, and patient, she has been and
he has remained her admire for 24 years. He has
been one of the best armature photographers I know
and his main subject has been Kathy. But he stopped
taking pictures on the day she found that tumor in her
right breast. It was the size of a hen’s egg. Weirdly,
it was Thanksgiving. By Christmas, the chemo had her
weak and bedridden. Some days she was so sick she
couldn’t watch TV. One day she couldn’t even talk.

Early detection saves lives. But theirs was not early.
By the time you can feel it yourself, it’s often bigger
than the doctors want it to be.

Cancer is a thief. It steals time. Our days are already
short with worry. Then comes this relentless disease,
unfair as a hailstorm at harvest time. But cancer also
has the power to transform us, for good. They learn
to simplify, appreciating what they have instead of
lamenting what they don’t. Cancer even made him
a better father. His busy work had made him a stranger
to his children. But now he pays attention to what really
matters. This is not a race. This is a new way of life
and new way of seeing, all from one malicious lump.

In the end each of us has so little time in this system.
We have less of it than we can possibly imagine. And
even though it turns out that Kathy’s cancer has not
spread, and her prognosis is good, her family and friends
try to make it all count now, appreciating every part
of every day. Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass.
It’s about learning to dance in the rain, as we all know.

Brad has picked up his camera again. He watches the sky,
searching for beautiful light. When winter storms come
around the East Coast, Kathy and Brad gather his children
and take the time to catch snowflakes on their tongues.
After all, this is the good stuff. This is what we’re living for.