My son's piano teacher called to tell me that his life partner
and former art teacher for my other son had died of cancer.
She was sick a long time.
I remembered I had seen her a couple of weeks before.
She was walking on the street in front of her house
with some former colleagues from the school.
It was a beautiful spring day.
I was sitting in my car waiting for piano lesson to be over so I could go home.
It was Friday. I was tired.
She walked by, her head wrapped in a colorful bandana,
the official head gear of chemotherapy.
I said it was a beautiful day, but a little hot.
She said, "Yeah, but you gotta appreciate each day for itself."