After another long hiatus, I’m back to blogging. More than a month after returning from India, I find myself struggling to put my private and public houses in order. Add in the opening of the expanded Alabama Project exhibit on August 23 at UAB’s newly renovated Wallace Tumor Institute (check it out at and the subsequent installation of the traveling show at Cincinnati’s National Underground Railroad Freedom Center on September 4, and I guess it’s no surprise that I’ve surpassed my limit for juggling it all without dropping a single ball.

Edwina also seems to be taking a hiatus of sorts. Other than accompanying her to the pain doctor in August, I haven’t heard from her much. I miss her phone calls and texts, and when I ask if something is wrong, she responds with an off-the-cuff remark: “I just watchin’ TV, doing my puzzle books.”

She did admit that a prescription a doctor gave her last week knocked her out and she found herself sleeping most of the day. “I stopped taking that,” she told me yesterday as we chatted, me waiting in carpool and Edwina situated in her favorite chair.

I know that Edwina is in pain. At the pain clinic, she admitted to taking more meds than had been recommended.

I also know that she’s having a hard time dealing with her son’s situation. He’s scheduled to appear before a judge to see whether he’ll get more jail time or probation.

I worry, though, that Edwina may have reached her limit. What if she discovers that the pain that’s developed in her remaining breast is cancer? At what point does reaching your limit have implications beyond anything you’ve imagined?


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