Not Today

I can’t today. Not today.

A friend lays in a hospital bed. The Cancer threatening to take him away from us.

He has children to yet watch grow. A wife to love. So many years left.

But Cancer.

Fuck Cancer!

Mercy, Lord, mercy. Don’t take him from us. Don’t call him from this world.

Mother Mary, all angels and saints, please – gather around him. Cry out to the Lord for Mercy to fall upon him.

Not today. Please. Not today.

Gravity Yards

Gravity and graveyards have much in common – like how they pull us in; hold us down. Or leave us breathless.

When my mom died, they cremated her body. But instead of letting her fly free, they buried her like the Cancer inside her bones. Laying her to rest in the same way they let her live – dying over and over and over again.

I am still reeling from the moment she chose to let go. I know she was tired. Tired of having her voice stolen. Tired of promises for a better tomorrow when she had spent her whole life suffering today.

Her Cancer was a manifestation of all their cruelty pulling her down for too long – like gravity.

But death…

Death came on her terms.

Like a holy suicide.