We were in surgery prep room 3 this morning. It's familiar, we've been in that room at least 3 times in the last 6 months. The plan was to stick a needle through her back and into the left lung and into one of the nodes, to take tissue from it for biopsy. Since starting this blog some of the poison has cleared, some of the pain subsides, and I am able to be with her the way I think I should be. I can love her and want her, and I can be her friend. We read magazines while waiting. I picked up a New Yorker, May 23, 2011. On page 36 words jumped off the page and stuck in my throat.
"In the daylight, I turned on the lights,
in the darkness, I pulled closed the curtains.
And the god of More,
whom nothing surprises, softly agreed ---
each day, year after year,
the dead were dead one day more completely.
In the places morels were found,
I looked for morels.
In the houses where love was found,
I looked for love.
If she is vanished, what then was different?
If he is alive, what now has changed?
The pot offers the metal closest to fire for burning.
The water leaves." ~Jane Hirshfield
This is heartbreaking.
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