It appears that I am now
At that age…

The age at which
The older folks of my youth
Shook their heads and talked softly together and
Pat-hugged each other and held hands with sad eyes... and
From the corner of my young ear
Without full comprehension or understanding~
“If there is anything I can do…”
Or
“I’m so sorry for your loss…”
Or
“Bless your heart…”

Then time got away … and
Here we are… and
Somehow surprised to be…

At the age at which
Every other body’s
Mom or Dad or Parents
Are merely needful
Or dying
Or dead… and
We are now the
Caregivers… or
Caretakers… whether
Primary or In Addition To…
Enthusiastically or Reluctantly… it is now
Our turn…
With
Every other body
To shake our heads and talk softly together and
Pat-hug each other and hold hands with sad direct eyes and
Complete and Profound understanding~
“If there is anything I can do…”
Or
“I’m so sorry for your loss…”
Or
“Bless your heart…”

For sadly
We are now
At
That Age

Days gone by… by this point…  I’da been
Toasted
Buttered
Three Sheets To The Wind
Toe’ –up from the flo’- up
and
Highly Intoxicated
But that was then and this is now…
NOW… I don’t smoke… I don’t drink… and I don’t get high
Not no more…
BUT I DO COOK!!  And loooove my own good cooking!!
AND I DO EAT!! And loooove that too!!
With that said... here is my confession...

on the day my mother died… I consumed…
2 deep fried chicken sandwiches… a Hostess Ding ****… a Snicker Bar
And enough Apple Jacks to need an intervention and a visit to A.J.A.
Apple Jack Anonymous

So today... I repent... Say 3 Hail Mary's... and eat a salad...

A ***** deserves respect
When she can break you down
To her level
Whether you want to go
Or not
When just the PROMISE of her arrival
Shakes one to the core
And when in the REALITY of her arrival
One is faced with but two choices-
UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER… or
A FIGHT TO THE DEATH
She’s so bad… That...
She can decimate an entire family… One by one…
Or show up where she is least expected… in a surprise attack…
And I do not like her… And she don’t RUN things here… but
She IS given respect…In that
This low-down cruel ***** will
make a believer out of the hardest man
make your life... and the lives of your loved ones
revolve solely around her
make you break your bank
make you drive miles and miles
for unproven remedies… and
experimental relief
make you try ANYTHING
from crystal necklaces to copper bracelets...
to banish her evil self... and
I DO NOT LIKE HER…
but whether I like her or not...
she DOES command a ******-up sort of
respect
So I always capitalize the C in Cancer... cuz
She is my enemy… and
One should never
underestimate
the enemy

It’s complicated…


And comes in

Varying shades of gray…


Up the scale

To sweaty FUSCHIA

Or down the scale

To dismal BLACK


Let it be

What it be…

Because

It is…

What it is…


Don’t overthink it

Don’t micro analyze it… or

Make excuses for it… or

For the lack of it…

Because…


It’s complicated

Love is…


And comes in

Varying shades of gray

With regard to this grieving process…
how is this supposed work…?
is it okay to be sad for me…
but happy for her…
cuz Cancer
(with a capital “C”  
outta respect)
is a low-down cruel *****…
But she gave that low-down cruel *****…
A run for her money…
A hellava fight…
And now her race is run…
And it’s a win/win …
Or maybe it’s a no brainer…
And I’m sure that there is at least one more cliché that I can use here
But **** it…
It’ll  hafta come to me later…
Cuz my skin itches…
and I keep looking over my shoulder…
feeling as if someone is there…

When, how or where we are born
Matters in which we have no choice… and
Dying is something we do
All alone…
At the appointed time...

In the when and the why of the thing,
We may or may not
Have a voice

But it is these
Hard and Wonder-full
Seconds… Minutes… Hours… Days…
Between
The moment we’re born
And
The moment we die
This accumulation of lessons and experiences
Known as
Life

These are the moments
To make a difference!
To share smiles and tears
To halve our worries
To help shoulder our loads
To make lighter
The Moments of Strife

Don’t give me flowers
When I am dead
Give me my flowers
Now

And don’t be heart-broken
When I leave
If in your heart
When I arrive
There is no smile

Don’t “fall out” or swoon... or
Hug my casket and wail
Rent your clothes... and with ash,
Your head,
Anoint

Because
If you have the chance to be loving
Right now
But do not…

Could be supportive
Right now
But choose to not…

Beloved
You’re missing the point...

I’ve got nothing but love
And will love just as much
And for just as long
As allowed…

So don’t give me flowers when I am dead
Give me my flowers
Now

It seems that after
Thousands
Of words
Hundreds of thousands
Of expressions
My fount has
Finally
Dried up
Maybe it’s hormonal…
(cuz this happens)
Or
Maybe I’m depressed… and
Need some ice-cream
(cuz ice-cream always makes things better)
But
I just don’t feel like writing anything at all…
No thing inspires me
To expound upon it
Can’t even seem to write
A bad poem
Unless I count this one
And I don’t
But I do admit
It is bad
So I will re-start
This bad non-poem
And not talk about
Hormones or depression or ice-cream
(even tho ice-cream always makes things better)
I’ll not expound upon
How I am un-inspired
To ever again
Wax poetic…
But will instead merely query~
Has my fount
Truly
Dried up?