Bits and pieces of the last five years lie frozen in Kal Leavy’s private art studio.

There’s a May 11, 2008, Seattle Times, open to the high school sports page. Off on a high desk in a corner is a calendar husband William bought for her at a time of hope when she was making plans to see her art students again.

Her last painting sits unfinished on an easel, partially obscured by two paintings done by students.

Her wheelchair is pushed to the side. It faces away from three paintings, among the last created by her students at her Springbrook Academy of Fine Arts.

Someday, William knows, Kal will tell him when it’s time to put away the visible memories of their 18 years together.

Kal died on July 20 in their Talbot Hill home, after fighting a particularly aggressive form of breast cancer that spread to her brain – twice – for five years.

William is just now feeling like he wants to talk about his wife’s death – and her legacy as an artist and teacher. William is 55; Kal was 61. They had no children, but through her school, young students were always in their home. An artist himself, William often helped out with the classes.

Kal was well-known in the Renton arts community, both as a winner in the Renton Annual Art Show and as a teacher of artists in her downstairs studio and in the community.

Her care and death have “taken a tremendous toll on me,” William said. But he wants something good to come from Kal’s death. Those who go through something similar need to learn all they can about cancer and always ask doctors questions.

Both art and teaching were important to Kal, William said. She asked her student to be creative, to be kind of people and animals and be considerate to others. And, have some fun.

Kal was joyful on Jan. 1, 2008, when she ran into the frigid waters of Lake Washington for the first Polar Bear Dip. It was a celebration of life. She was cancer free.

“I wanted to feel alive,” she told the Renton Reporter at the time.

She legally changed her given name, Karin, to Kal, as she was really known. That act was part of the celebration, Williams says.

Kal was diagnosed in fall 2005 with triple negative breast cancer, which isn’t responsive to typical drugs, said William, a registered nurse at the University of Washington Medical Center.

“She did everything she was supposed to do,” said William, exercising and paying attention to her diet. She had no bad habits.

Kal underwent surgery and chemotherapy at Valley Medical Center, just down the road from their home. Afterward, she was doing well. Their regular visits to Valley Fitness Center for exercise became a social outing. She continued to teach.

But the cancer was returning.

Just eight months after her triumphant dip in Lake Washington, she told William her neck “was feeling funny.” They decided to seek care for her at Seattle Cancer Care Alliance.

Concerned, the staff at the South Lake Union facility decided she needed chemotherapy. Again, after treatment, “things were going well,” William said. They’re happy in their 2008 Christmas photo; she’s holding their beloved cat, Yarka, which means “bright” in Russian.

They remodeled a part of their house. Kal revarnished a cork floor they discovered under the carpet. She was under a doctor’s care, but she was teaching and still going to the gym.

Again, the recovery was not to last.

Things really changed on Feb. 25, 2009, said William. Kal was at Seattle Cancer Care Alliance for her regular infusion of cancer-fighting drugs. But, the treatment was stopped before it began. The cancer had spread to her brain. It was a Wednesday. They wanted her to go to the University of Washington Medical Center the next Monday to begin radiation treatment.

In those intervening days, the symptoms of the cancer hit – hard. She felt like she was on a boat, unsteady. She was weak. She couldn’t see. Monday, she began a month-long series of radiation treatments. She had high doses of steroids to reduce the inflammation in her brain.

She got gradually better.

She learned to walk and write again at Valley Physical and Occupational Therapy. Her artwork was put on hold. “Just staying alive was so much more important,” William said. Eventually, she was back out doing some yard work.

But there was an unexpected setback. She suffered three compression fractures in her spine while doing some routine lifting. She hadn’t realized her bones were so fragile now.

There was more rehab in early 2010. The goal was to join the gym again. She felt better. And she started to teach again in April. William bought her a calendar, to help her plan out her upcoming activities. It was one of his last purchases for her.

In January, Yarka, almost 15 years old who had been with the couple since kittenhood, died of inoperable mouth cancer.

On May 2, Kal was feeling “a little off,” William said. He asked her whether she wanted him to stay home from work. She said no. Later in the day, she was on the couch. She couldn’t move her right side. She left a message on William’s cell phone. He called her back, then rushed home.

The ambulance asked where she wanted to go. The answer was University Hospital. More testing was done. The brain cancer had returned. “Kal knew right away it was over,” William said.

Doctors worked for hours using a finely focused beam of gama radiation, known as a gama knife, to remove the cancer. That treatment is often promoted, but what isn’t told to patients, William said, is that a patient is bolted to the table and the head is immobilized. A patient simply can’t move.

This time, the treatment didn’t work.

In early June, she spent a week at the University of Washington Medical Center for uncontrollable pain. She went home, to hospice care.

One July 20, she died, William at her side.

In a way, her love of art and her openness to new experiences helped her through her five-year battle against cancer. Because of how the cancer affected her eyesight, she saw common things in an uncommon way, with a fresh perspective.

“There was always a sense of wonder about what was happening to her,” William said.