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Eight months of battle has come to an end. The siege is over, the campaign won. The war transforms from hot to cold with détente on the horizon.
A few tasks remain unfinished. In the coming months, the sally port will be bricked up. Sentinels will be posted and auguries performed to warn of any impending threat. She will stand a five-year vigil in the chapel every evening, lighting a votive like a prayer to ward off the grendel's return.
But these are the duties of a garrison not the deeds of an adventure.
The lists have been disbanded, the debris of battle cleared away. On the bailey tents have been dropped, banners furled and horses readied for the road. Mercenaries have been paid and ride toward their next contract. Friends and allies drift away toward home.
In truth many left long ago, worn by fatigue from endless months of siege. A few never answered the call at all. Some sought answers to unanswerable questions in advance, wanting to know whether the battle would be won or lost before committing their energy behind it. Others waited for a victory celebration without wanting to confront the possibility of defeat.
Only a handful understood that, either way, we endured this adventure with only words to convey our fear and pain, with only words to comfort us. These select were far fewer than I had hoped we when set our feet upon this path. But, like gold, they revealed themselves against the sediment as the water swirled relentlessly around the pan. And remain as cherished as rubies tumbled from a mountain stream.
The dovecote stands empty. All the pigeons have been released, their messages delivered if some unwanted or unread. Only one remains cooing in my hand, waiting for this final missive to be strapped against its leg, waiting for its time to fly. I sooth it with gentle strokes, wistfully remembering its companions before I lift it to the air.
Nothing more to say, I raise her banner one last time and watch the horses retreat toward the horizon. The quietude of night descends like the silence echoing against my ears. Above the gate an armored figure leans upon her spear, her shield slung over one shoulder, her sword still belted to her waist, ready to fight again if necessary but hoping it is not. As twilight deepens and friends depart, she waves farewell and Godspeed. Framed against the battlement, her silhouette sets in my mind as the picture of a hero. A veteran.
A survivor.
© 2007 Edward P. Morgan III
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For over a month, I’d known this would be the final message and had its structure in mind. Originally, I’d planned on sending updates through the end of the month, but by the time radiation was over both Karen and I were physically and mentally worn out by the process.
As I said before, not everyone who started on the path with us made to the end. The one thing you learn through an experience like this is who your friends really are. It is as much a test for them as for you, though they don’t know it. Like any test, some pass, some don’t, and some get graded on a curve. You try not to waste a lot of time or energy with the people who disappeared. You take what you can get and move on. It’s a hard road.
As I’ve written these notes and asides, I’ve found some good memories bubbled up, events I’d forgotten about until I re-read these message. Some I didn’t realize were so important at the time. Like the horses in the neighborhood. Or the pictures from the balloon ride. Or the stuffed bear someone made her. Or the receptionist at the chemo center giving Karen a bromeliad with some encouraging words one day as she left. Or the gold, guardian angel pin she was given on her last day of radiation treatment. Or the pair of stuffed monkeys I bought for her before she started treatment, one pale, one rusty that we nicknamed Rads and Chemo. They are designed to hug each other, which we did a lot that year, and have a great deal since. Karen still has them.
The one thing Karen focused on from early in her treatment was going to Dragon*Con. For those who don’t know, it’s a big science fiction convention held over Labor Day weekend in Atlanta every year. We were lucky that everything went well enough for us to attend. The highlight for Karen from that trip was dancing in the Cruxshadows concert to songs from her iPod that had become her anthems during treatment. That was something she’d said she would do from the earliest days. She focused on it single-mindedly as a goal. She danced all through that concert with tears in her eyes, which still brings tears to mine.
I hope these messages have provided you with something useful or entertaining if you are in or have gone through treatment, or know someone who is or has. No matter what your adventure, I hope something in Karen’s experience has given you the courage to survive.
Picture notes: This was the very first picture Karen took while we were in Wales. The first day we were touring, we stopped at Beaumaris Castle, one of many stops we’d planned that day. Karen really wanted a picture of the water gate, which is the main entrance now, but there was an older gentleman going in at a very slow pace. Finally, she couldn’t wait any longer and just snapped the picture and we went in. I think it is one of my favorite pictures from the trip. It just really captures a sense of departure to me.
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