To have an adult son with brain cancer. It’s sort of, kinda
Like I fell and broke my femur,
but someone wants me to run a marathon.
Like I have a hundred pound sack on my shoulder and
I’m on a treadmill going nowhere.
Like a good night’s sleep is a vague,
impossible to recover, memory.
Like the Psalms suddenly make sense and they never did before.
Like we’ve talked more in 4 weeks than the previous 30 years.
Like life is one long asthma attack.
Like noticing strange, unimportant things—
he has no gray hair and a very large vocabulary.
Like the world stopped on October 1, 2019.
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