St.
Patrick’s Day 2015 was just about a month before my husband David’s final step
in his yearlong cancer treatment, the ileostomy reversal, and removal of the ostomy
bag.
No more bag and
no more chemo which at intervals had to be administered by a battery powered
pump attached to a special port in his chest.
We had come
through the worst winter on record in Boston with several feet of snow dumped
on our driveway which took a community effort to keep clear. One day I saw a
train of military dump trucks passing our house. I had to go out in the sub-zero
weather to see what was going on. The Governor had sent the National Guard to
the head of our street in Medford which always has drainage issues.
All day they
carted off loads of snow to a nearby ball field converting it to a snow farm.
We thought that the snow mountain would never melt until July and leave a mud
sty fit for pigs rather than a playing field for youth soccer. To our surprise
in April things were back to normal. The March winds were blowing “In like a
lion…”and drying out the moisture.
We decided
to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day last year by going out to an actual movie
theater using two AMC passes gifted to us for Christmas, by a sweet young
couple in our church along with a crisp hundred dollar bill which we’d designated
to go out for dinner after “Snowmageddon” and the chemo-trails were behind us.
I rarely
went out during that time but on a trip to Christmas Tree Shop I grabbed up the
last Kelly green cowgirl hat with rhinestone tiara design. I have always wanted
a horse and used to have an Annie Oakley outfit when I was small. Well, so far I
got the hat but not the horse; still workin’ on that dream.
I decided to
wear my green hat on St. Patty’s day to the movie theater and then out for a
celebratory pint of Guinness. My WASP husband, Dave, who hasn’t a stitch of
Irish in his DNA has learned to go along with my shenanigans, green nail polish
and all.
We entered the new Assembly Row Theater and
took the escalator to the top floor only to be sent back down to turn in our
passes like peons for admission tickets.
(This did not set well with the princess but she determined not to let
anything rain on her parade).
We had chosen
American Sniper out of the several
films offered and we were not disappointed. It is a great story about a true
American hero who served in Iraq. He was a uniquely skilled marksman with a
heart. As a consequence he suffered debilitating PTSD. But when he returned to
his wife and family he understood it and used his coping skills to help others.
War changes people and he did not return the same person, his widow explained.
Neither has
my husband returned to be the same person after his long battle with
colo-rectal cancer, but he is gaining strength, battle tested, is leaner, more
focused and is cancer free! What doesn’t
kill you makes you stronger.
It was a
windy day March 17th 2015 and we had something to celebrate. I hoped
we’d go try one of the new restaurants in the trendy section on the Mystic
River but after the movie Dave was ready to go home. So after the matinee the
prince and princess headed for the parking lot. I was still wearing my bright
green tiara hat when a gust of wind ripped off my crown and I surged forward to
catch it as it rolled along the ground. Dave quickly stated he would not chase
after it in his condition. I decided I would have to be the one to retrieve it
but in mere seconds it had rolled around the corner and my heart despaired of
catching it in my high heeled boots.
A tall, dark
young man had come out of the theater behind us and must have been inspired by
American Sniper because he quickly assessed the situation and shot off after
the hat saying ”I got this!” and chased after the renegade princess hat which
was now rolling down Grand Union Boulevard. The cross wind had taken it down
the middle of the street like a stampeding bull with cowboy in hot pursuit. We
watched standing in amazement in the frigid wind. Dave was so cold he went
ahead to warm up the car while I watched my young hero finally round up the
runaway hat, turn back catching his breath after running a city block for a
stranger. I had time to get my gloves
off and dip into my wallet to pull out a fiver for the young hero. As he
handed me the slightly bruised hat I thanked him profusely offering the bill
which he refused at first. I detected a slight accent and somehow suspected he could
actually use the small token of my appreciation.
“Please have a beer on me!” I insisted like
the princess I felt to be after such a kindness. He took it with an ever so
slight continental bow. The IAP (Irish American Princess) never made it to the
pub that St. Patty’s Day but she thinks she might have encountered an angel.
Chris Noonan
Funnell March 3, 2016
