Wednesday, March 18, 2015

Mesothelioma and I Don't Want to Go

He's dying.
And dying quickly.

Doctors say there is
No cure
Nothing will fix him.

The fibers rooted
Decades ago
And now are shredding his system
Apart.

Mercilessly.

Organ by organ.
All at once.

I could go visit him.
I should go visit him.
Mom says he always liked me,
always asks about me,
Even from the young, lost,
Ambitious graduate I was then.

But he has mesothelioma
And I don't want to go.
I'm afraid to look him in the eye
and know it will be the last time.

I don't wan't to ask dumb, polite, habitual questions ---
"Hi! How are you, Rich?!"
knowing full-well how dry poor he is.

I don't want to pretend hope and
Insult him even further.

And the sickest part of this sick sickness is
He spent his entire life devoted to
medical texts.
He had never married.
Had no children.
His singular ambition was to teach others to heal.

So he knows
exactly, really
How
Hopeless
Is his
Health.

How do you look that in the eye
and smile?