Tonight I want to write for those of you who like myself live with cancer. Turn away those of you who do not want these words. That is alright but for those of us who cannot turn away I write now for you. I write for us who cannot tell with clarity what exactly is leaving us, but that something is wrong we know. I write for those in a kind of cancer limbo where only we can see the pain, feel the troubled nerve, the siege slowly gaining ground but still a mystery to our doctors. I write for those who know our lovers grow weary with the unnamed slowing down of life that cannot be explained, for all those who listen to the losing sounds of their own selves and fear the burden they become in the eyes of others, who hear the stories of, it is good it is all over, it was exhausting, never knowing what would come next, it is good it is over and I think of us, who are not over, but going in small ways and how human we are in our cellular failings, how we wait and do not wait, how we walk down our own roads, steadying ourselves, to go one step further, on an uneven road, an unwanted road but still grateful for its small sharp stones under our feeling feet. I am of the cancer people and now it is night and I hold on to Saskia's photograph of when I lived in the rooms of dreaming.
|Joan, 2011--Photo by Digby Duncan|