There are two routes from our home in Elliston Virginia to
the Wake Forest Hospital in Winston Salem, North Carolina. One is via the
interstate requiring less time, bypassing points of delight to the eye and ear.
On those frequent trips cancer treatment
required we chose not to bypass this
little part of America. We drove back roads, through Riner and Floyd and Mt
Airey. We chose to see Mt. Pilot.
Mt Pilot looms up above the road asserting its place and
grandeur. It demands attention, it demands awe. So often after a trying and often not too positive meeting with
the Wake Forest doctors we headed home. And often we took the narrow, winding road to
the top of Mt. Pilot. With Food Lion
deli sandwiches or the famous North Carolina barbecue and a six pack of beer
(we never tried to learn if alcohol was allowed) we picnicked.
The beauty of the mountain plant life, the wind in the trees, the darting of skittish animal life filled our ears, eyes and hearts with joy. The looming
threat of cancer, the fear of what the future held fell away.
Mt Pilot did more
to extend Paul’s life than any of the chemo he endured for his two years of
treatment. Of that I am sure.
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