h o p e
Another holiday has passed, one which I used to believe was quite the favorite of mine as it has always included good food, good people and fine spirits. This holiday my thought process was different as I spent time cooking in a kitchen that I could not claim as my own, for people whom I know only on a surface level. The fact that I was watched for 'too little this and too much of another' only frustrated me further. Seeing a place setting for five when six where to arrive angered me and made me feel a disgust and sense of not belonging that caused me to, with grace, make the most out a series of unpleasantries that wanted to amplify, but in the end, were controlled.
The fact that I am still processing the results of Monday's ultrasound and Wednesday's MRI left my plate full and my appetite far from over indulgence. I kept to myself, even while I entertained and wondered who might call next, from the blue, to question my continued existence rather than congratulate me on defeating a set of numbered months that were to indicate THE END of my life as I know it and others will remember.
And with confirmation from film that I have deteriorated physically and my insides where explained to look beyond anything perceived as normal in the medical community, gave me the ability to stop clinging to that which I have, hope. Instead I cling to something that is bigger than me and more powerful than me as medically it is hope-less, proved over and over and over again since the beginning of 2006. As mentioned to me, there is no error unless I want to think more irrationally than all the characters combined in One flew Over The Cookoo's Nest. All while I try to think of something sensible to say to family members and any others that have or may continue to speak their surprise at my continued existence. I choose to say nothing, outwardly laughing, internally spinning at the mere notion that my living is an expressed burden to an assumed powerful few.
When I learned first that I was terminal I had questions that led me, often not so directly and painfully, to hope. I now only cling knowing that hope is a false emotion, to say miraculous congers feelings of arrogance and to live feels uncomfortable, as if I have embellished. It is obvious more than one around me , distance aside, awaits my assumed and expected death.
Like a warrior, I will continue to fight. I have more scars and although battle tested and victorious to a certain point, I know it is simply a matter of when I will see the end I have envisioned and not whether the end exists. I am borrowed time and alright with the concept, not overtly comfortable, only alright.
Simple distractions feel right and loneliness is an answer as I approach the day, not so different as before, but more wise, more afraid and most definitely less confident than I did with all that is gone with yesterday.
The fact that I am still processing the results of Monday's ultrasound and Wednesday's MRI left my plate full and my appetite far from over indulgence. I kept to myself, even while I entertained and wondered who might call next, from the blue, to question my continued existence rather than congratulate me on defeating a set of numbered months that were to indicate THE END of my life as I know it and others will remember.
And with confirmation from film that I have deteriorated physically and my insides where explained to look beyond anything perceived as normal in the medical community, gave me the ability to stop clinging to that which I have, hope. Instead I cling to something that is bigger than me and more powerful than me as medically it is hope-less, proved over and over and over again since the beginning of 2006. As mentioned to me, there is no error unless I want to think more irrationally than all the characters combined in One flew Over The Cookoo's Nest. All while I try to think of something sensible to say to family members and any others that have or may continue to speak their surprise at my continued existence. I choose to say nothing, outwardly laughing, internally spinning at the mere notion that my living is an expressed burden to an assumed powerful few.
When I learned first that I was terminal I had questions that led me, often not so directly and painfully, to hope. I now only cling knowing that hope is a false emotion, to say miraculous congers feelings of arrogance and to live feels uncomfortable, as if I have embellished. It is obvious more than one around me , distance aside, awaits my assumed and expected death.
Like a warrior, I will continue to fight. I have more scars and although battle tested and victorious to a certain point, I know it is simply a matter of when I will see the end I have envisioned and not whether the end exists. I am borrowed time and alright with the concept, not overtly comfortable, only alright.
Simple distractions feel right and loneliness is an answer as I approach the day, not so different as before, but more wise, more afraid and most definitely less confident than I did with all that is gone with yesterday.
posted by the warrior at 6:37 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home