The thought that I now shared a common bond with those gripping views of existence similarly held my fascination. I wondered what my family would undergo during the harsh period following my death; I pondered whether I would see earthly lives when I no longer was part of the world. I spent lovely afternoons in peaceful reflection, drinking in the earth's beauty to somehow retain the days as if they were my last. Time itself lost its importance as I embraced the cycles of nature and my own life as one, rather than separate entities. I marveled at the pitiable lack of control we, as humans, have over our lives; after attempting to rule the world, we are at last brought to the level of all things through the element of mortality. I shared a kinship with autumn following the rediscovery of cancer. Like a tree divested of its leaves, its only proof that life yet flourished deep within; I questioned when my color, too, would fade, rendering me helpless against winter's icy grasp (death). Death was no romantic notion which smuggled lives on moonlit nights; it was merely an endless cycle.

Nov. 1981… I quieted my thoughts and listened as a distinctly familiar echo of sadness resounded in the autumn air. It seemed as if the old tree above me was attempting a futile last stand in the face of the impending desolation of winter. A blast of northerly winds scattered the furiously spinning leaves to form a semi-circle about my feet.

I picked up the leaf, noting its fragility as it crumbled under my touch. I realized that I was observing a change of seasons in which only brittle remnants of spring remained to display that life had actually existed. A gust sent the fragmented leaf to be buried unceremoniously in the midst of thousands of other leaves, which were rustling their distaste for their hapless plight.

I watched several more leaves rattle a loud protest as the wind determined their fate. Another leaf, one which could easily be labeled as a spectacular tribute to nature itself, was swaying gently in the crisp breeze. It was different from the other leaves, seemingly unafraid of its destiny. I continued to watch until it was slowly delivered to the ground to rest in silence at my feet.

That is the way death was intended to be, I thought; stealing quickly over its prepared and quietly waiting subject, death overcomes life with no struggle and no outcry. I sighed and wondered when I, too, would be beneath the dried and decaying vestiges of many summers passed.

I culminated my restful sojourn amongst the colorful show of leaves with thoughts that have frequently entered my consciousness during reflective intervals; one must first accept death if he is ever to understand life.

I will never forget an incident which occurred shortly after my release from the hospital. Seated in the middle of the shopping mall, I was engaged in observing people hurry in and out of stores, and while my face did not radiate feelings of great joy and elation, I did not wear a mask of sorrow either. Just then, a man happened by and remarked, "smile, you're not going to die!" I remember how idiotic that phrase sounded to me, and it left me speechless. "Yes," I thought, "I shall die. . . and sooner than you might suspect." Everyone dies.

Quite apart from denying my illness, I found myself quite preoccupied with it, and initially it was difficult to carry on in a "normal" fashion in the sense that I could not detach my mind from the fact that I had cancer again. After learning of my recurrence I immediately began thinking thoughts such as, "if I subscribe to this magazine, I wonder whether I'll receive all of the copies. . . ," and while driving down the road, "I wonder if I'll ever get a speeding ticket," or when in a pet shop, "if I got a parrot, it would outlive me."

I remembered my china dishes and realized that my dad had been right; I should never have purchased something which represented the future. The future did not belong to me. . . it was dissolving before my eyes. My dreams were changing out of necessity, since most dreams depended on time for their fulfillment… and time was one amenity that I could not hope to claim.

Nov. 1981… I dismissed modeling altogether after appearing in a luncheon (style show), which I enjoyed entirely. I somehow felt unable to accept the demands of the career when I felt my health situation was so uncertain and unreliable. Admittedly, I could have modeled for a short time. Somehow, though, it didn't seem important any more. I was tired…