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I am not sure how many times I have given clear, precise thought to the business of living and dying. I mean the actual thinking and knowing that death is a part of my life in an imminent manner.

I am certain that after the beginning of May of 99 I began thinking of living and dying in an entirely different manner. My friend Lauren, beautiful Lauren, has a malignant brain tumor nestled and growing in her brain stem. Cancer is such an invasion of life, of health and of loving. It is the unwelcome guest that never leaves. I have come to learn that it is the location of this invader that is so critical to the outcome of this disease. Three mm's can decide this living or dying issue. It reminds one of the old adage in real estate...location, location, location is everything.

To know Lauren is a gift, to know she may be dying is like a hard slap on an almost frozen cheek. Lauren is 42 years old and is a bride for the first time since December of 99. Like many smart women, she waited for the right soul mate, like waiting for the perfect sunset. How do you know when you see it? She knew immediately. I know little of her husband, Norm. Maybe he is so beloved to her that she is reluctant to share him in the short amount of time they may have together.

Five months after her quiet wedding I would begin receiving late night phone calls from Norm during Lauren's hospital siege. Few people at school knew of Lauren's illness or the seriousness of her surgery and she most certainly wanted it to stay that way. This was necessary for her in order maintain her composure in front of her students. It was the love for her students with so many special needs that kept Lauren focused on getting well and returning to her important job of teaching reading. She worked the day before her surgery and left school and went directly to the hospital for pre-op work up. I begged her to have someone call, as she was adamant that no "mourners in practice" be hanging outside her room. The social committee at school was not to be circulating cards and gathering flowers for Lauren. This was a private battle.

And so this is how my surreal late night phone calls began. Norm and I did not know each other, we had never met. It is for this reason that I believe he chose me to call and give his daily reports to. There was to be no unwanted sympathy or tears. Easier to do this with a stranger. Norm's calls came late, often after I had gone to bed and his voice had that syrupy quality of sleep and I knew he had been grabbing a few hours of sleep before returning to the hospital to be with Lauren. I have come to believe that these calls came during that fifth dimension time of being asleep and awake for a reason. It was a veil to reality we both needed with our voices soft and cloudy. The conversation was always short and concise and very one sided. Randy..yes? This is Norm. Lauren was in surgery for 32 hours. They took her ear off and tried to get to the tumor through her ear canal. We don't know the outcome. She is sleeping and I am going back to be with her. I'll call you tomorrow. He allowed no pause for questions or encouragement. I knew I only had seconds for a reply and so before the click and the haunting sound of a dial tone could happen all I said was..You know I love her.

The late night phone calls continued but the framework never changed. Lauren was recovering but could not see and was dizzy...You know I love her. Lauren was sitting up and had vision in her left eye...You know I love her. Lauren was out of bed and walked alone...You know I love her. And finally, with incredible joy it was Lauren's voice on the phone saying get me some books on tape because I am going crazy because I can't read...You know I love you.

Lauren returned for the last two days of school with her head wrapped in a colorful chapeau. You know the ones we see courageous breast cancer victims wearing. She was there to take care of her many Special Ed students, to see them, to hug them and to see that they had the proper placement for the next year.

I knew she had only limited vision in one eye so I had several of my students be her full time assistants for the day and they busily gathered young students in tiny groups to go and relish this woman they have grown to love and welcome her back. It was on this day that I met Norm for the first time. There were no words exchanged, just an embrace and a long look into the eyes of another who loves Lauren.

Lauren is back at school this year, looking beautiful and maintaining the poise and attitude of royalty. We do not speak of the ever-growing tumor that was impossible to excise in its entirety. We do not speak of the possibility of death or blindness. We do not speak of the growing mass of tissue. We do not speak of things far into the future. We do speak of the homeopath that Lauren is seeing and we sniff at her many vitamins and elixirs she takes and decide they smell like growing things...like the earth and ripening tomatoes. We do speak of loving children and how they learn best. We do speak of the flower garden at Lauren's new house and the wonder of what will come up in the spring. And I do not think of the business of dying but of the business of living and loving Lauren.