Terminal
08/18/2005
I spent a portion of my day with one of my dear friends that is fighting cancer. For some reason I have never thought about her having a terminal illness– could it be denial?
Today, I ran a couple of errands for her to get DVD rentals and groceries. When I returned, we sat around, talked, and laughed – she thanked me for the laughter. It was at that moment that I came face-to-face with my refusal to acknowledge how sick she is.
Chemotherapy is kicking her butt. One more round is scheduled but DAMN what it does to her. She doesn’t have any energy. She’s sad – almost depressed, and unless talking about the series “Sex and the City,” the light in her eyes is missed.
We met at an Over the Rhine concert a couple of years ago at a very ornate Church in our city. She recognized me from our semi-large Anglican congregation and introduced herself. It took a few weeks before we hooked up to do something together but…here we are a few short years later living as good friends who know what each other’s secrets are. She is one of the few people who knows the hundreds of ways to contact me 24/7.
Terminal is one of those words that is supposed to be used to describe other people. It is for people whom I don’t have a personal relationship with. It is for people whose animals never take over my shoes when I take them off. Terminal is for people who would screech when I walk though their doors without knocking. Terminal is for THEM…not for people I care about…not for those I love!
Children and people with good hearts are not supposed to go through this crap. To the end of my life, I may not make peace with the fact that law abiding people have to deal with a lot of shit while assholes like Charles Manson live smugly with three square meals a day, a roof over his head, free medical, and free education.
Today everything seems so wrong. Today, everything seems terminal.
Peace,
zss
© 2005 Wrosesongs
All Rights Reserved
I spent a portion of my day with one of my dear friends that is fighting cancer. For some reason I have never thought about her having a terminal illness– could it be denial?
Today, I ran a couple of errands for her to get DVD rentals and groceries. When I returned, we sat around, talked, and laughed – she thanked me for the laughter. It was at that moment that I came face-to-face with my refusal to acknowledge how sick she is.
Chemotherapy is kicking her butt. One more round is scheduled but DAMN what it does to her. She doesn’t have any energy. She’s sad – almost depressed, and unless talking about the series “Sex and the City,” the light in her eyes is missed.
We met at an Over the Rhine concert a couple of years ago at a very ornate Church in our city. She recognized me from our semi-large Anglican congregation and introduced herself. It took a few weeks before we hooked up to do something together but…here we are a few short years later living as good friends who know what each other’s secrets are. She is one of the few people who knows the hundreds of ways to contact me 24/7.
Terminal is one of those words that is supposed to be used to describe other people. It is for people whom I don’t have a personal relationship with. It is for people whose animals never take over my shoes when I take them off. Terminal is for people who would screech when I walk though their doors without knocking. Terminal is for THEM…not for people I care about…not for those I love!
Children and people with good hearts are not supposed to go through this crap. To the end of my life, I may not make peace with the fact that law abiding people have to deal with a lot of shit while assholes like Charles Manson live smugly with three square meals a day, a roof over his head, free medical, and free education.
Today everything seems so wrong. Today, everything seems terminal.
Peace,
zss
© 2005 Wrosesongs
All Rights Reserved
posted by I am Z @ 10:15 PM
2 Comments:
At 7:18 AM,
Anonymous said…
Peace to you, Zayne.
At 6:49 PM,
Laurie Schmaurie said…
She will live grandly in her next life. Until then, the world can be thankful to her for showing at least one person (if not many many more) how love truly feels.
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