On July 24, Teresa and I celebrated our 26th wedding anniversary. So we went away. Which is what I said when people at work asked me where I was going. Away. Sort of a Staycation? No, just away. Teresa and I are celebrating our anniversary away. Away from the city noise. Taking the rush out the hour. Back to the beach.
Last year, for our 25th we went to the beach and had a marvelous time, as Teresa would put it. Marvelous, indeed. I knew last year that something wasn't right with me. I just didn't know what. The pictures from our trip showed us very happy. We took some of those "here, let's take a picture together with me holding my arm out as far as it will go, so we can try to fake everyone out that we didn't take this picture ourselves" photos and we were as happy as ever. Hell, we were Greg & Teresa, not Mom & Dad, Grandma & Papa, Husband & Wife. It was just us. And we actually liked being with each other. A lot.
This year––today, in fact––Teresa told me she could "see the whites of my eyes pretty good. They look white for the first time in a long time. They're not so grey. You're getting your energy back." Didn't know she saw that. That's another thing I learned today about what cancer does to the body––how people can see things you don't see. They see the signs. The signs that give you hope. That give strike you in the simplicity of the message. "No swimming near the jetty." Hundreds of people today totally ignored the 7 foot sign stuck in the sand. Easily thousands in the four days. Either they didn't care or they didn't see it.
Thank you for noticing, Teresa.