i knew.

i knew what was happening before she did, i think.
i knew when her eyes lost their shine. her body became tired.
i knew when her doctor told us what she had.
i knew when i watched her body become but skin and bones.
i knew when her size 4 jeans became a size 0.
i knew when they told me she had 2 weeks to live.
i knew when i held her hand for the last time.
i knew when i told her i loved her and there was no response.
~
cancer tends to do that. it tends to take the one you love quickly, ruthlessly.
and it leaves you.
stranded.

the traveling log {part 1} (for 5.22.13)

Day 1: Just me, the lake and my boat. But I can’t steer because I don’t have hands. Very hot. This should be interesting.

Day 2: I don’t think I’ve gone very far, can still see the bottom of the lake so it can’t be very deep. Some clouds today which made it a little cooler.

Day 3: It’s raining. I’m afraid my boat might completely fill up with water. But at least I have something to drink.

Day 4: Watched the sunrise this morning. Very beautiful. Also got to see some fish jumping. Maybe I’ll do some fishing today.

Good bye

“I’m sorry,” I whisper as I kneel beside his body.

My hands are sticky wet as I tear the radiation suit. Searching for his wound.

But his back arches. Mouth screams.

He’s been melted. Flesh joined to shimmery fabric.

He’s been butchered. Face swollen, mutated, blistered.

I can hardly bear to look.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s better this way. It’s over.”

But I’m choking as I watch him.

Eyes flutter closed.

Chest ceases moving.

Please, it can’t end like this.

I’ve got you brother

I’ve found you now

and I’ll hold you forever till they come to take me too.

Kermit the Hermit and the fair maiden (for 5.18, 19, 20.13)

Kermit the hermit lived on the most wondrous mountain. It was tall, majestic, misty, and magical. The sun always shone even when it rained and the birds chirped secret messages to each other. Kermit enjoyed frolicking with the unicorns and chatting with the fish. He lived in solace in a particularly beautiful meadow but one day a fair maiden somehow found her way into his wonderland. She was the practical sort, calm cool and collected; the sort that hated being lost.

“Excuse me,” she called, impatient with her own folly, “can you tell me the fastest way down the mountain?”

 ...

Kermit turned. Love. At. First. Sight. He was enthralled. When he looked at her all the birds stopped chirping and all the unicorns stopped frolicking. The mist lifted and even the waterfall ceased to flow. The maiden cleared her throat and again stated her question.

“oh, sorry.” The hermit blushed and averted his eyes. “It’s just that I’m not quite used to company—especially of the female sort.”

Sheepish grin.

The maiden was not amused.

“Yes, well, would please just point me in the right direction.”

“Umm actually I would like to ask you to stay here with me forever.”

 ...

Again the maiden was not amused.

Raising her eyebrows she exclaimed, “Please, just tell me the quickest way down the mountain. I don’t want to live with you.”

Kermit the hermit was nothing short of heartbroken.

“Fair lady, it’s just that I am quite sure that I love you. However, to please you I will answer your question. The fastest way down the mountain is just down that path.”

Without a word the maiden turned and followed the path Kermit had indicated. As she walked out of sight the hermit knew he would never love so deeply or truly again.

crest

It pulses like the ocean. Beat upon throbbing beat. Wave upon crashing wave.  Feel it wash over you. Pounding and repeating and starting all over again.

The crescendo begins. Slowly, slowly, it builds.

The wave grows. Slowly, slowly, it rises.

The sounds transcend your ears, go straight into your soul. Here comes the tide. It’s getting louder, bigger, stronger.

The moment of mystery arrives. You know the moment when you see it, hear it, feel it.

The crest of the wave.

The climax of the music.

Hold your arms out.

Close your eyes.

Soar.

For this moment, we are free. 

Question

I trained myself deliberately. Two, three hours would go by and I had not said a word

Except to question. People don’t want to hear what you have to say, only to hear their own voice speaking. Make eye contact, nod, clarify. I learned it well.

And the thing that allows you to share yourself with another was crippled, atrophied. I compensated with the muscle that evades.

I lost sleep, changed plans, listened. And felt briefly valuable. Their alleviated minds quickly forgot me.

I never dreamed someone would want to know me. Never recognized my disability.

Lame, will I dance?

Momentary Hero (for May 21 and 22)

The rescuers worked tirelessly moving the rubble.  It was their third day straight and the doctors made it clear that no one could survive three days under the rubble, that only corpses would be found. But it was then they uncovered them, three children lying underneath the rubble. The oldest of the three, a girl named Maizy, lay slightly on top of the smaller children, arms around them, shielding them. To the amazement of the rescuers and doctors, all three children survived. The younger two children were barely harmed. But the girl had suffered multiple injuries, including a broken back.

The doctors marveled at her courage, saving the other children from the earthquake, and at her strength. Her wounds healed in record time. However, it quickly became clear she would never walk again. Exactly one month after being brought to the hospital, Maizy’s wheelchair was rolled in front of a room full of reporters fighting to ask questions of the little hero. She answered each question with minimal words but she didn’t like being called a hero.

She knew she was only a momentary hero. They would forget her, and then she was left to live as a paraplegic.

Tempestatem

They meet in the sky. 

The wearers of red and the wearers of blue.

Their ships line, gather their strength. The lines swell and press forward, eager for battle.

There is the sudden start.

The ships crash in a great, rolling, thunderous cacophony.

Their swords clash together, arcs of blue sent plunging all around.

The crashing is all around.

Then.

It mellows.

The battle is nearly over.

A few still crash together. 

Ominous.  

Deadly.

One side will win and rule the skies. 

For a time.

’Til the forces are rallied again.

And thunder and lightning shall again rip the skies.

Brown

Dust and must singing softly, smelling sweetly.
Sinking, swimming in a sea of brown. Books, shelves, a leather chair.

He is small, still, and almost swallowed by the ancient seat.
Younger in years than many, older at heart than few.
Sitting, he pours over pages and pages, reading passage after passage.

A warm light lurks behind. 

Sun bathes the slatted blinds, lining the room in limitless slices.

The glow beckons, wishing, wanting, and waiting for one to come to live for its warm embrace.

He stays. He sits. Still, safe, and silent.

Never to know of love or the sun.