Look to your health; and if you have it, praise God and value it mext to conscience: for health is the second blessing that we mortals are capable of, a blessing money can't buy.

Autumn, the season of transition, is upon us.
Children defensively zip up sweat jackets or button sweaters against the evening coolness, cheeks bright as candy apples as they play in the fading twilight, arrogantly unaware that winter's cold embrace is lurking.
Older people nod knowingly and remember as summer's dog -day heat is replaced by the chilly relief of fall.
Even nature surrenders its colors to the season. The regal roses wither in the brisk breezes and are replaced by bold mums, their yellows and whited a lost kiss of pigment in the garden.
Along the streets the trees forever reading to touch - the night sky, slowly lose their splender, leaves turning brilliant and beautiful hues in a final good - bye before relinquishing their bough - homes and returning slowly, silently to the earth, leaving the trees themselves bareheaded and shivering in the winter winds.
It is October again, It has been a year since my mother has been diagnosed with inoperable lung Cancer: a year since she embarked on her good brave fight.
It has been a year marked with so many milestones, so many shared smiles and secret fears, It was a year of recognizing blessings, usually passed over, and counting them one day, one hour at a time.
Childern, with eyes that see all and minds that are still free to wonder, are extraordinarily accepting of the changes in routime, the shift in seasons.
I know throughout her illness my mother's grandchildren have seen her change and have still recoginized her always as " mom mom." This week, however, when I took my two younger boys with me for an impromptu visit to mom's, Sean ran into her bedroom to greet her, then quickly returned to the living room to talk to me.
'Mom," my four year - old whispered, careful not to be overheard or offending. : My grandmom has no hair."
Mom came through her exploratory surgery at Sloan kettering and the radiation treatments that bombarded the tumor in her lung with faith, grace, and dignity.
She also came through thin and tired - but without losing her hair.
This summer, however, mom began losing something more precious to her - the ability to say words. most of the time, she was able to hold a mormal conversationg (and normal in my family has always meant fast and furious).
However, one day while talking to me, she had trouble saying the word Philadelphia, she knew exactly what she wanted to say; she just couldn't get her mouth around the sounds, and so she began spelling to me, " P - H - I - L - A - D, " until I knew what she meant.
This began happening more and more often, usually when she felt weary or under stress, and by the end of August it was evident something was wrong, she returned to underwood for further testing and learned that there were lesions on her brain.
The pressure caused by the lesions was producing the speech problems.
This pressure was dangerous because there is limted space in the skull for the brain to swell.
Mom would once again have to go through radiation -- this time quickly, intensively, and to the brain.
And the only side effect would be total hair loss. It should grown back eventually, but until it does my mother has a wig for her outings and scarves to wear around the house to cover her head.
She wears these things mostly for the comfort of others. When she is alone, she usually leaves her head unadorned, finding the wig and the other accessories uncomfortable when unnecersary,
" my grandmom has no hair, " Sean said, because we had caught her by surprise.
" I know, Sean, Isn't it funny?
"I asked him as my mom joined us in the living room we explained to him that mom mom had to take medicine that made her hair go away but it would come back.
"Would you like to touch my head, Sean?" my mother asked as my son stared at her, his blue eyes filled with questions and curiosity. It is startling to see your mother - or anyone you love - without hair, but surprisingly it's something that you can get used to quickly.
We are, after all not really these bodies.these are just the shells that transport who we are, and no matter what the physical changes, those connected by love seem to be able to recognize their own. Mothers, good Mothers, the ones who know that parenting is much more an art than a science, are a safety net for their children. They are the place we come to for love and acceptance, even when we feel lonely or unworthy or bad.
My mother has always been a personification of faith and caring to me, as well as a jumble of virtues and emotions and blessings as difficult to count as, well, the hairs on my head.
One Tuesday recently, I sprawled with her on her bed watching Spin City and chatting & which, thankfully, she does more easily since the treaments). When I asked her, " is it cold, mom? to have no hair?"
Each of us is born with many talents. Some of them are blatant --- art and athletics, intelligence or beauty---- while others are not as obvious, perhaps, but just as important.
I have three siblings who each have a wonderfully nuturing instinct; they can see what needs to be done, the steps that need to be taken; they can define their roles and be counted on to follow usually needed more direction, and I count upon their instincts and guidance more times than even they know.
I consider it one of my greatest blessings to be their sister.
But one of my talents ----- one of those oddball ones that no one talks about - is that sometimes I come up with just the right question. " Is it cold mom? I asked , and my mother looked at me and smiled.
"No Mary, it's comforable really, " she said. Then with a sigh added, " It's funny, no one asked me about it before."
We then talked about how she felt, how she preferred not wearing anything on her head, how hair loss was a small price to pay to regain Philadelphia.
Once again I was her child the role I knew best, listening to her as she talked of this, the newest challenge, the most evident change.
And then we were silent, side - by - side listening to the whispers of the autum wind. I even feel asleep there, in my mothers bed, once again catching comfort where I knew it would be.
I can't tell you if I dreamt of the hope spring holds out to us that night.
Perhaps not. But I do know that somewhere in that sleep I realized that there is beauty even in the barest winter.

Mary Lebeau

P.S. Cherrish every moment you have with everyone.
All my Love,
Angel