My father was readmitted to the hospital last night. I won't rehash everything I've already said about his SCLC. It's in my blog. It's spread to his brain. His sodium levels have dropped to the point that he doesn't know who he is, or who we are. I've always written to work out the emotions that I struggle with, lately mostly having to do with him. I thought I'd share this here. I don't feel comfortable sharing it with loved ones yet. I don't want them to think I've given up on his fight, or have accepted a foregone conclusion, but I'd lose my mind if I didn't have some way to process this anticipatory grief. if you're on the fence, or struggling to quit, please find the strength to stay quit. It's never too late.
I do
Imbue It
With a sentient evil
A stranglehold of
Wispy
yet iron strong
tendrils
Smoke
Ephemeral
Layered clouds
slinking through open doors
but sticking to
grasping clawing sinking terminal nails
into the vital organs of the afflicted
Money. Greed. Profit.
But so much higher the cost
for the lung
in which it resides
The hooks sunk in the
sinews
the mind
the bones
so long before
its ever entwined itself
permanently among
the branches of a life
Weighted chains
Weakened Limbs
shortened breath
Breathe
gasping wandering eyes
the frustration of a life
chopped.
A sideways glance
as if it say, yes
but you did this
as though to say
culture and the money
thrown to encourage
*that blissful inhalation*
that toxic sludge
played no part
And now,
what does it matter
how it began.
Only how it ends.
Like this. A life
Stolen.
