To Those Around Me

 I wrote these back in the mid-80's. My father was diagnosed with melanoma while I was in college; my mother with breast cancer while I was in seminary. This was my response after her diagnosis. He lived 20 more years; she, 30 more years.

Yes, my parents have cancer.
BOTH my parents now have cancer.
And maybe they will die,
But maybe they won’t.
I don’t know.
I just don’t know.
 
Why do you hide from me?
Why, in this moment,   am I left so alone?
You avoid my eyes,
   Talk quickly,
      Ask politely, but
You don’t really listen for the answer.
 
So I say, “Fine, thank you,”
  Squeezed past the knot in my throat,
      Force a smile.
But don’t look in my eyes,
   For the sorrow they hold is honest.
 
You don’t know what to say?
Just listen,
   Listen to my silence,
      Listen to a sorrow deeper than words,
               If you dare.
Listen to disconnected ramblings,
   Memories
      Fears
My inner house has been ransacked;
Stay with me while I sort things out.
 
I’m reaching out,
   Reaching out because something in me struggles to survive.
I call for no reason.
   Stop by your house.
     Walk into the room where you are
         And sit silently.
Silently,
Because I know that if you can accept my silence
    Then you can accept whatever else I may offer you.
If you can allow that depth,
   Allow that unknown,
Then you can accept the known,
   No matter how jumbled and frightening it may be.
 
I’m afraid,
   Afraid of being alone,
      Afraid no one is willing to go into that deep silence with me.
And yes,
I know I must walk this path of grief on my own,
But I need that relationship with others
   To give me strength.
 
Feel not helpless
When tears shake my body.
Hold me, if I let you,
   Hand me a tissue.
Tears cried alone wash the eyes;
Tears cried with a friend wash the soul.
 
Be not defensive
When anger explodes.
Know that in so doing
I am fighting for life,
   Fighting to survive,
   Fighting to move on.
I will not drown just because I did not kick my legs.
 
Be not appalled
That I cry out in anger towards God.
I lift my voice in lament with the psalmist
   And in those words find healing.
 
I don’t know what lies ahead of me
   And that’s the hardest part.
I don’t know how to prepare for the future
   For I don’t know what the future may be.
Optimism denies the possibility of suffering and death;
Pessimism denies the hope of remission and recovery.
Reality consists of both.
The balance is hard to find,
   Harder to maintain.
 
I ask not for answers.
My cries of “Why?”
   Are cries of pain
      Not a theological query.
I ask not for sympathy
   Nor for pity.
Not for tears,
   Nor for smiles.
I only ask that I be given the freedom
   To be who I need to be
      As I struggle to grow through this time.

DMClick