By Ray Speckman
Smashwords edition, copyright 2012
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“I am so scared.”
Marti said it just once. It was in our jungle-like patio where we had spent…and would spend, so many special hours together.
She never said those words again.
Marti had breast cancer; it was in her lungs; eventually the cancerous army of destructive cells would invade her brain.
Marti, the survivor, the fighter, the optimist and the avoider lost her final battle. She was 49.
I first saw Marti from the rear. She was 29, a young widow with two small children. It was in Salt Lake City. She was walking away from an office where I had just signed on as a consultant. From fifty yards away, I had never before seen such an attractive pair of Levis.
Then we met. There was much more to Marti than alluring Levis. First it was the gray-blue eyes, sometimes hazel, sometimes green, always glistening like summer’s sun reflected from Caribbean waters. Expressive they were. They told of her soul, her zest, zeal, and, yes, even her temper. Marti was plain spoken. She voiced about her opinions, yet she could be quiet. There was one thing certain. When she spoke she said what she meant and what she meant she said. You could count on it. There was no obfuscation…ever…from Marti.