Aunt D and the Big "C"

I posted a while ago about my Aunt D. She was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. It's not operable, and it's fatal.

Or is it?

Her cancer marker has shrunk. That's a good thing, as I understand it. In January, she will have some sort of test - if the magic number revealed by this test is 37 or lower, she is in remission. That's an even better thing.

So many people are sick, suffering, fighting on a cellular level for life. Maybe you have someone in your life with the gnawing demon inside them. I hope they win. Will you hope my Aunt D wins, too? If ever there was such a thing as magic, and if ever one could use this magic, I would make such a spell...one to set Aunt D's test score at zero, to vanquish the growing health-horror of cancer to the deepest, darkest reaches of the halls of disease, locked behind iron-bound oak doors that can never be opened again so that no one ever has to know they carry their own death in them, and it's devouring them millimeters at a time.

I don't pray, at least not in the way most people think of prayer. I do sing...and my songs are my prayers, my spells, the deepest root of the tree of me. You'd better believe that from now until the test results are in, I will be shaking the rafters for Aunt D, and for anyone else in her boat.

Sing with me, please?