Jim and Cathy have been friends and partners in crime for 20 years. We have shard campfires and condos, skied countless thousands of vertical feet together and belayed each other on rock walls throughout the Rockies. Their family has adopted us for more holiday meals at their home in Buena Vista than I can count. So it was difficult to behave as if everything was normal.
Cathy is probably the most serious athlete of the four of us. She is unquestionably the best skier, whether on alpine, tele or touring gear. She is as much at home dancing up a shear rock face as bulling her way up the Matterhorn or hiking around Mount Blanc. She has pedaled from Colorado to Seattle and from Minnesota to Maine.
Jim, Cathy and Connie, partners in crime breaking bread
Cancer takes no notice of such feats. It visited her just as it had invaded her mother; we should choose our parents more carefully. The first round went to Cathy, but it took its toll. She now wears her hair short, a laurel wreath of sorts. But the un-hoped for rematch has already started. My money is once again on Cathy. Maybe it’s a long shot, but she is a tough broad. And you never, never bet against your friends.
Eventually we all come face-to-face with our mortality. For me it was a “fatal” heart attack in 2000, when a persistent nurse, after 18 minutes of CPR, revived me, Lazarus -like. For several other friends it is the “Big C” in its many varieties. The clock is ticking. None of us knows how much time remains. Use it wisely. Don’t squander a second.
