Sometimes you need to say something and you can't say it to anyone around you. So I am posting it here. It seems so selfish to be tired. Tomorrow will be a better day. It's been 14 months since my Dad was diagnosed with small cell lung cancer.
My Boot
I don’t want to be around death anymore.
I want to run away.
The words once so kind
Have begun to turn sour.
They will snip me again if I stay.
There is still more time.
I need to spend it enjoying the moments we can.
Yet the growing need to be free
Is a trickle of fear and guilt,
Like when I was a child
Slowly sinking into the marsh silt.
I remember looking for someone to help me,
But the marsh was empty.
It was windy, quiet, and wild.
I was alone.
I struggled my way out of the boot
I could not see.
Swallowed there, it remains to rot as time passes.
The fear, the emptiness come back with the memory.
And the guilt at having lost my boot.
“I don’t know where I lost my boot,” I claimed.
“I’m doing great; He’s doing better,” I answer
To the endless questions. The looks of concern
I always greet with a warm smile.
And then answer the questions, again.
I look for someone to buoyant me,
But I am alone.
All I want to do is run away,
Before I too am swallowed up in sorrow
And a different kind of pain.
June 29, 2009
