As Ecclesiastes says, "There is a time to live and a time to die." I have lived a good life. The hereafter should be even better.

In 1984, on the eve of my fortieth birthday, I found a lump. The next week I had a mastectomy followed by months of chemotherapy. It didn’t look good. I prayed that the Lord would let me live to see our miracle son, Charlie, then age four, graduate from high school. From a medical perspective it didn’t look promising, but God answered a mother’s desperate prayer.

Charlie is now at Toccoa Falls College majoring in education. A fine, handsome, boy he is. We also have an adopted son who is trying his wings. Unfortunately, he crash lands now and then. I love them both and miss their daily presence at home.

After twelve years of remission, a routine doctor visit turned into my worst nightmare. The cancer had returned and spread to the lungs and lymph nodes in the middle of my chest. Metastatic breast cancer it is called.

Nothing has been the same since. Nothing ever will.

My husband, Buddy, a retired airline employee, had a fledgling computer store in Young Harris which we immediately shut down. We were just at a point of seeing a profit after nearly two years of struggle. One dream shot.

I had been writing a computer column for over a year for the Sentinel. It was inevitable that this had to stop also. Stress, chemotherapy and a foggy brain does not produce good copy.

My active role in the local computer club, the Civil Air Patrol, and other civic groups gradually turned into my being an inactive, passive observer.

Being a long-time school teacher and principal, I have always had a strong drive to teach. Therefore, I have tenaciously hung onto my Sunday School Class. This is a wonderful group of diverse adults, some old enough to be my parents. I am now in my fortieth year of teaching the Bible, but that may soon change too.

Cancer is a roller-coaster ride. Good days, bad days. Good news, bad news. Yesterday was "bad news" day. My oncologist told me it was now or never. Take more chemotherapy to try to extend the number of good days or resign myself to palliative, symptom control.

I had vigorously resisted more chemo since July. It was a "quality versus quantity" issue and I wanted to enjoy what time I had left.

"Let me know when you think I am down to my last six months," I said.

She didn’t hesitate. "Quite possibly you are there now."

That was doctor number three who had indicated an expiration date before the end of year. Yet, there is a bright side to this. Most likely I won’t have to contend with any Y2K problems.

We are all terminal when you think about it. With cancer, there are so many issues to ponder: the physical, spiritual, emotional, and even financial.

Each week or so I will give you a first-hand account of winding down. It won’t be grossly morbid, I promise. My funny bone still works.

Besides, I intend to live forever. So far, so good.