Charlotte Hubbard - Dronings from a Queen Bee: The First Five Years

Toms Bee-Loved Honey T-shirts were used to shroud the hives the evening he died.

Im a beekeeper because my husband Tom spent his life fearing all things medical. He never had regular check-ups. He ignored family history, extensive nagging, and significant signs that something was terribly wrong with his body. When he finally went to a doctor, he was diagnosed with very advanced stage IV colorectal cancer. Since it had remained undiagnosed for so long, it had evolved from a highly treatable disease to a likely fatal illness.

Tom gave it the good fight, surpassing all estimates on life expectancy and having about as much fun as you can have with terminal cancer, but he finally flew on a sunny day in late summer, with me and our children at his side.

Tommy left me with many thingsincluding fantastic memories, unfinished home improvement projects, three awesome kids, and his beloved bees. Hundreds of thousands of them.

When life gives you lemons, youre supposed to make lemonade. When life gives you bees, theyre supposed to make honey. Toms bees are working on that; Im trying to help.

During Tommys battle with cancer, from February of 2008 until late August 2009, I met nurses and doctors who proved repeatedly that angels walk among us, wearing surgical scrubs and carrying charts.

angels walk among us, wearing protective veils and carrying smokers. Since then, Ive met dozens of beekeepers whove proven repeatedly that angels walk among us, wearing protective veils and carrying smokers. These beekeepers have helped me come to peace with managing the intriguing but sometimes overwhelming gift of bees, and theyve also helped me come to peace with issues that cant be readily managed, like bees that dont want to stay in their hive or grief.

When we were still in the throes of the battle, back in April of 2008, Tom had a second emergency surgery. Complications resulted, and during his month in the hospital, Hubby insisted I tend his bees until he could get home.

I said sure, Id take care of his bees until he could again, but all of us (except Tom!) knew there was no point. The oncologist projected that Tom had only a few weeks to live, possibly a month or so at the most. She didnt want to tell him that quite yet though, not wanting to rob him of hope. She suggested we take him home to recover from surgery, and do whatever we could to make his final time on earth peaceful.

Thinking Id be burying my husband before the summer of 2008 even started (and really needing him to tell me a few essential things, like how to mix lawn mower gas and where the safety deposit box key was), I wasnt happy about his spending his wee bit of energy instructing me on something I considered non-essential: assembling houses for bees. But instead of fading away like his doctors predicted, Tom instead began to shine. In his quest to fiddle with his bees, he gained weight instead of losing it, and climbed the stairsa few more trips each dayto strengthen his shaky legs for visits to the hives at the bottom of our yard. I figured that the least I could do then was feign a little interest in his stinging insects, even if they were tremendously scary.

And buzzing loudly.

And increasing in numbers every day.

June 2008 passed. But Tommy, defying all medical predictions, did not.

And somewhere, in that blur of medical appointments, chemotherapy side effects, and the daily miracle of his survival, my keeping his bees became less of a chore and more of a blessing. When youre working with bees, its best that you focus only on the bees and leave all worries elsewhere. If that focus wavers for a second, well, a sharp sting on the ankles is enough reminder about where priorities should bee.

Tommy managed to continue to mock all medical predictions, and for another year we discussed bees, planned for them, and banged our heads against walls over them. Gradually I fell under this insects magical spell. What were once his bees became our bees. Those bees were some of the sweetest times of our marriage.

Tommy gave cancer a good fight, but its defeat was not meant to bee. We held his visitation in our backyard, amongst the gardens he so lovingly cultivated, outside of the garage whose contents would later take days for me to sort through (all the while wondering, What was he thinking?!)

As the sun slipped over the horizon that blessed evening, hundreds of people gathered with us in our yardhugging, crying, and laughing.

At the edge of our property, thousands of bees gathered in their hives. I dont know if they were laughing or crying, but I think they sensed things had changed. They respectfully gave us space, and vice versa. And, a few weeks later, they gave us pounds of glorious honey that we sold to raise money for Toms favorite charities.