Monica and Willard

V* and I were enjoying a perfect vacation last month in the Caribbean with her family. Great company, excellent accommodations, outstanding home cooking and a perfect beach. One day, as usual, we had the beach to ourselves. We swam, we lounged under the palapa and talked of our great good fortune.

Around mid-day we noticed a middle-aged couple walking along the beach toward us. As they approached we noticed his body movement was erratic. They passed in front of us, turned and then waded into the surf. Out further in the water she paddled about him while he floundered in the waves just as he had on land.

After a few minutes bobbing in the waves they headed back toward shore. As they reached the beach he suddenly fell. She stooped, grabbed his arm and tried to pull him to his feet. But he continued to struggle on all fours. Finally upright, he looked at us, thrust his jaw outward and grinned in triumph. As he hobbled by she paused in front of us. She was of sturdy Nordic stock and sported a short-cropped Girls Athletic Association haircut. I was thinking...leather helmet, shin pads, lacrosse stick in hand. No, more like Brunhilda in full chain mail, massive spear in one hand and swinging a morning star in the other.

She smiled warmly. "Willard*'s getting much better now. He doesn't always know where he is but it is what it is." (What, what is it? we wondered).

"He was squished just like a mayfly on your windshield 4 years ago in a head-on collision. Looked like he was a goner. They had to pry him out of there with the jaws of life and then medevac him by helicopter to Atlanta where he was in intensive care for 4 months."

"Oh, god, that's just...."

"No, no, it's all good. They rebuilt his skull, put his shattered legs and arms in traction and within a year and half he was out of his wheelchair and learning how to walk and talk again."

"Oh, he must be, I mean you must be...."

"No, no, it is what it is. It's all good. But then as soon as he could work again--Willard is a time and motion specialist with the agriculture department--they downsized him and he lost his benefits rating after 35 years with the department."

"Oh, I'm ..."

"No it's all good. Then they transferred him to Bogalusa. You do what you have to do. Then I was transferred from Chattahoochee to Homerville. I'm a nursing instructor."

"That's, that must be just so..."

"It's all good. We both fly back to Chattahoochee every other weekend so we can be together. It is what it is. It's all good."

"Thank goodness for your nursing skills and care taking abilities. You..."

"Yup, it's all good. I'm Monica*, by the way, and today is my birthday." Her eyebrows suddenly shifted upward, her lips started to quiver and her eyes filled with tears. "Yep, November 30, exactly one year since they operated on my brain tumor."

"Oh, Jesus, Monica, I am so terribly ...."

"No,no, it's all good. They seem to have gotten most of it and the severe migraines have gotten much better. It is what it is."

"Well, you are amazing, so strong and ..."

"Yeah, it's all good. Well, really nice talking with you two. Gotta go now. Enjoy." She turned and walked away.

V and I looked at each other, breathless. As soon as she was well out of earshot we both exclaimed in unison, "NO! NO! It's NOT all good!!"

It is now Christmas Eve and we are more thankful than ever for our good health and well being and for that of our dear friends and family.

*denotes use of pseudonym