The first invisible character is Aurora's mother, a woman I never met and whose name I do not know. Her death marked the beginning of my friendship with Aurora. I believe that I would have loved this lady. Seeing her through the lens of her daughter, I know that she must have been extraordinary. Besides - I admire the inspired perfection of the name she chose for her child. 

To the Romans, Aurora was the goddess of dawn. The name comes from the Latin aurum, meaning gold, as in brightness. In Metamorphoses, the Roman poet Ovid drew a word image of an energetic young woman who was always first to rise. He envisioned her tossing flowers as, tracing a pastel arc through the sky, she banished Night to another realm. A purple mantle streamed from her shoulders as she escorted Sun into the new day. Appropriately, on 13 April 2011, when seventy-seven friends, family members, and I arrived at The Elyria Country Club, we saw our very own Aurora exquisitely dressed in purple and gold.

She is tiny, our Aurora. Tiny like the dancer in a little girl's musical jewelry box. She is sprightly, delicate, and fine, but she is also a walking portmanteau, for her vivace personality fills a crowded room. Unsurprisingly, then, when I made my way into the dining room, I sensed her presence. There was elegance all around, yes, but it had been animated by the impish vitality that dances in Aurora's eyes. I watched her twirl among her guests until she spotted me and rushed over as if I were The One for whom she had been waiting. She is gifted at making people feel special.

Round tables topped with ivory linens had been arranged just so in a room overlooking a velvety, verdant golf course. Each table was festooned with perky tulips that bobbed from grassy saucers. Aurora confessed that she had put her florists through their paces to get the centerpieces just right. Two dry runs were nixed before they achieved her vision. "I want it to look like a garden," she instructed. She had planned every detail of the dinner with this kind of meticulous perfectionism, for she derived joy in the process of precision.

Aurora's husband, Dr. Romeo Miclat, whose practice specializes in nephrology and internal medicine, is as accomplished a photographer, as he is a physician. With his big daddy Nikon in hand, Romeo did his best to shadow this hummingbird of a wife. When their son Joseph and his wife, Marie, both attorneys-at-law, arrived the glamour quotient skyrocketed, for Joseph and Marie had had the great good sense to provide Aurora with two grandchildren. Precocious Madeline, five years old, and pixyish Kiki, still just a preschooler, looked angelic in fuchsia empire-waist, billowing-skirted creations chosen for them by their grandmother. Son David, whose career is in music and film and who lives in Florida, worked the crowd as he alternately wielded digital and video cameras.

Pressed to sum it all up in one word, I suppose I would choose glorious. Maybe even radiant.

And how could this be? Under the circumstances, how could this elation be?

For this was no cocktail party. This was the last in a succession of special home gatherings that had been organized by friends. This was a Prayer Dinner. Aurora, a non-smoker, has been diagnosed with Stage IV lung cancer - a diagnosis that hit this clean-living woman like lightening coming from a clear blue sky.

Enter:  the second unseen character in this story.

As an ominous presence in anyone's story, cancer is right up there at the top of the list. But behind Lorain County cancers is something even more wicked and base:  the rumors behind the tumors. There is a distinctive pattern of disingenuousness in what should be an honest dialogue between government health officials and citizens about radon and toxic waste in Lorain County. Please read:

Toxic Horror Lurking Beneath Elyria

and

Cancer in Paradise

According to the Surgeon General's Office, radon is the second leading cause of lung cancer and may cause as many as 20,000 deaths from lung cancer each year. According to State Radon Officer Chuck McCracken, the average national indoor level of radon is 1.3 pCi/L. The average indoor radon level of Lorain County is 4.6 pCi/L. Please read:

What is radon?

~

Aurora's response to her devastating diagnosis was to add prayer to the medical treatment model, including surrounding herself with loved ones at a Prayer Dinner. Have you ever heard of a Prayer Dinner? I had not. But what an inspiring way to express one's faith! This evening represented a precious chance to pray both with and for the goddess-of-brightness in our lives.

The Reverend Dr. Richard A. Gonser of St. Julie Billiart Catholic Church in North Ridgeville, Ohio, presided. A service entitled Blessing of the Sick had been hand-written and printed on pink paper, and these lay at each place setting so that all guests might participate. We began by praising God and recounting the healing work of Jesus. Participating was not always easy. For example, praying  "In this celebration we shall entrust our sick sister, Aurora, to the care of the Lord, asking that He will enable her to bear her pain and suffering." was tough. I felt almost as though I was standing beside Aurora as we stared together into the abyss.

The Readings, Isaiah 38 and the Book of Ecclesiastes 3:2-8, brought home the conundrum that is faith:  the incomprehensible duality of hope and acceptance existing simultaneously in our souls.

When we lifted our voices to sing "On Eagle's Wings" there may have been some dry eyes among us, but I couldn't say for sure. I was too blinded by my own tears to be a reliable witness.

Father Gonser invited Aurora to join him at a pretty little altar that had been set up in front of a fireplace. She stood there looking as small and earnest as a child. Blessing her with Holy Oil, he bestowed the anointing of the sick. A reading of Psalm 23 followed. The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want . . .      

We recited a Prayer of Blessing:  Lord Jesus, who went about doing good and healing all, we ask you to bless our dear friend, Aurora. Give her strength in body, courage in spirit, and patience with whatever pain she may experience. Please Lord, let her recover her health, so that, restored to the Christian community, she may continue to joyfully praise your name, for you live and reign forever and ever.

The fuchsia-colored apples of Aurora's eye exhibited some of their grandmother's stellar courage. In front of what must have seemed a cavernous room, they sang a love song dedicated to her. Holding tightly her baby sister's hand, Madeline adroitly handled a wireless microphone, remembered all the words, and sweetly acknowledged the warm applause with curtsies. Kiki, perhaps thinking her voice had not been heard, perhaps believing that big sister was supposed to go first, then gave a whispered reprise performance as Madeline generously stood to the side. I thought Aurora was going to levitate, she was so proud. If Hollywood had been involved, the movie would have ended right then and there.

Every moment was poignant. My heart was already full to the top when Aurora - such a natural, I told her she could have been a motivational speaker - came to the podium. She told us that in life's journey, where we begin, where we are right now, and where we end up are less important than the people we meet along the way. She thanked everyone for being part of her journey and for respecting her need to keep her home her sanctuary. She also shared a precious memory from when she left the Philippines for America.

"Romeo and I had been doctors for one year and we had been married for one month when we came to this country. My Mama took me aside and told me that there are all kinds of people in this world - the good, the bad, and the ugly -and she was scared that no one would help me here in America. Well, looking out at all of you, I know that my Mama must be smiling up there in Heaven."

It was a quintessentially generous thing to say. Aurora gifted us with credit for having allayed her mother's worries.

~

I couldn't help but smile as I dabbed my eyes because it was her mother who had brought Aurora into my own life. How fitting that her mother would be here with us on this night.

It all started many years ago, when a nasty sinus infection brought me to Dr. Romeo's office. In the course of treating me, he mentioned that his wife had just lost her mother.

Now, I already idolized this man because in January 1986 I witnessed him perform an act of gallantry that revealed the essence of his goodness. I was at the bedside of my feisty mother-in-law, Marilyn Zagrans, who, against all odds, had conducted a very dignified argument with Stage IV lung cancer. The time had finally come, however, when the tumors were to have the last say. Dr. Miclat, who was relatively new in the community, was her physician. They knew each other very well, for they had been through a great deal together. He had won her eternal gratitude with the compassionate care he had given her aging father. Mere weeks after she buried her father, Romeo was grieved to tell Marilyn she was terminal. With the aid of his superior medical care, she turned a six-month death sentence into two + years spent in excellent quality of life.    

Marilyn never complained. But on 14 January 1986, twenty-four hours before her death, she was entering a completely new world of pain. I summoned her nurse. I was dumbfounded when the nurse disapprovingly lectured her about requesting pain medication forty-five minutes before it was due. I called my husband, who called Dr. Miclat, who appeared almost immediately at the hospital.

He tended Marilyn with compassion and then shot me a look that said, Don't worry. I'll take care of things. He motioned to the nurse and they left together. I watched from the doorway as they strolled down the hall. I saw him bend his head toward her and heard him gently explaining, "You don't know this woman, so you have no way of knowing how brave she has been. But she has been very, very courageous. So when she says that she needs pain medication . . . " In that moment I realized how special he is. He is everything that patients, family members, and medical caregivers need him to be. Kind. Firm. A leader.

And so, though I had never met his wife, I felt that I simply had to reach out and express my sympathy. As soon as I left the office, I wrote a card and arranged for a vase of flowers to be sent to their residence. Aurora paid me a visit not long afterward. In an expression of appreciation for having reached out to her, she brought me hand-embroidered table linens that she bought in the Philippines when she went home for her mother's funeral. I never dreamed that my gesture would mean so much to her. Nor that it would gain my family and me the treasures of a multi-generation friendship. As the years rolled by, the Doctors Miclat would build a huge practice and a cutting edge kidney dialysis facility. They would host many glittering parties. They traveled around the world. But they have remained just as authentic as they were when we first met them.

Aurora's mother, then, is the knot that anchors the woven tapestry of our friendship. At this Prayer Dinner, Mama was once again weaving into the fabric of my own life still more threads of this beautiful daughter who has brightened the world.

~

Romeo moved discreetly around the room so that he could capture on film his wife's every move. The pain on his face was so naked, looking into his eyes felt somehow disrespectful. We had a moment alone, and in that brief interlude he seemed to be reading my mind when he spoke of the irony of how lung cancer connected the Miclats and the Zagrans, from then to now. When I said my goodbyes, Aurora fussed over whether I would be safe going home alone and I just shook my head in amazement. That's Aurora:  always worrying about everyone else.

Alone with my thoughts, I recalled irony in the lines of another poet, one who had placed Aurora and Romeo together in a scene in one of the greatest love songs ever written:

               But all so soon as the all-cheering sun

               Should in the furthest east begin to draw

               The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,

               Away from the light steals home my heavy son.

                                                            -William Shakespeare

                                                             Romeo and Juliet