"Mom I'm sick."- words I often heard through
the growing years
These words hang in the air like illusive may flies
nagging at my ears
My flaying hands swat and miss,
I must keep trying
Laying to waste hurting words which cannot
soothe the crying
Cleanse the body, heal the heart, and strengthen the mind
from damaged emotions drained
Doctors with clinical voices hint at hope
tempered and strained
Bruises, cuts and scrapes the badges of youthful games of
folly and play
Were easy to remedy with a band-aid, a kiss and
bedtime stories of yesterday
Is she too young to join the breastless warriors who must
learn a new coping game?
Hiding secret surgical scars, inhaling scientific concoctions
bearing unspeakable names
This cancer, this demon strikes its' victims
with little warning
Causing endless nights with no sunshine even
in morning
Poison flows through needles without mercy into
veins blue from angry abuse
Wanting it all to stop NOW, to go away
what's the use?
Isn't there a magical cure, a pill, a remedy,
a potent potion?
Perhaps a wizard's spell or an old fashioned
medicine man with sorted secret notions
This diabolical disease is no respecter of persons,
no prejudices to gender or age
Acceptance comes--the fight is on, faith flows in tubes
of toxic liquid replacing rage
Pale blue eyes reveal a glimmer of freedom,
daring to dream again
A bald head shows fuzzy growth as
her new life begins.
FOOTNOTE:
All was in the Master's plan
She thought she had no choice
Turning cannot into can
He gave her soul a true voice
Women will listen, as she strives
To enlighten, saving young lives
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
A Mother's Story
She untangled her tired body from the twisted damp sheets. Slowly she put one foot on the worn carpet and then the other. It was five a.m. and the morning held no promise.
It was the first day of spring. The early rising robins were singing a song she could not hear. The roar in her surging mind would not hold court to anything beautiful.
Slowly, not wanting to accept the day's offerings, she lumbered into the dark bathroom to wash the nightmares from her lined face. She dressed in her usual uniform of worn jeans, grey sweatshirt turned inside out and thin leathered moccasins missing all but a few lonesome beads.
She dug deep into her backpack for the keys to her mud laden, road weary but faithful old jeep. She knew this vehicle was taking her to memories she did not want. Once on the bumpy dirt county road she let out the first groan of the morning. This soon was followed by screams of despair even before the first battered stop sign appeared.
This demon plaguing her, this cancer, was not hers to fight but the battle of her young vibrant daughter. No one had told her breast cancer was available to the young. She almost laughed at this thought. Cancer availability, likened to that of peaches at the local farmer's market. Her child with the rose hued cheeks, career on fast track, infectious laugh and the world begging to be part of her life was soon to be a breastless warrior.
Once again her screams pierced the loneliness of the old jeep but this time they were followed with a song of praise and shouts of thankfulness to God.
Footnote:
It was a miracle the cancer was found. She had no symptoms and no reason to have a mammogram. If not for the insistence of a loving boss lady, who says she was directed by a voice from Heaven telling her to make my daughter have a mammogram, my daughter would not be here to be a "pin-up" gal with her grateful mom. These billboards have opened doors making the public more aware of cancer's attack on its' young victims. We at Pink Outlaw want everyone to be aware and to know we are here to help.
It was the first day of spring. The early rising robins were singing a song she could not hear. The roar in her surging mind would not hold court to anything beautiful.
Slowly, not wanting to accept the day's offerings, she lumbered into the dark bathroom to wash the nightmares from her lined face. She dressed in her usual uniform of worn jeans, grey sweatshirt turned inside out and thin leathered moccasins missing all but a few lonesome beads.
She dug deep into her backpack for the keys to her mud laden, road weary but faithful old jeep. She knew this vehicle was taking her to memories she did not want. Once on the bumpy dirt county road she let out the first groan of the morning. This soon was followed by screams of despair even before the first battered stop sign appeared.
This demon plaguing her, this cancer, was not hers to fight but the battle of her young vibrant daughter. No one had told her breast cancer was available to the young. She almost laughed at this thought. Cancer availability, likened to that of peaches at the local farmer's market. Her child with the rose hued cheeks, career on fast track, infectious laugh and the world begging to be part of her life was soon to be a breastless warrior.
Once again her screams pierced the loneliness of the old jeep but this time they were followed with a song of praise and shouts of thankfulness to God.
Footnote:
It was a miracle the cancer was found. She had no symptoms and no reason to have a mammogram. If not for the insistence of a loving boss lady, who says she was directed by a voice from Heaven telling her to make my daughter have a mammogram, my daughter would not be here to be a "pin-up" gal with her grateful mom. These billboards have opened doors making the public more aware of cancer's attack on its' young victims. We at Pink Outlaw want everyone to be aware and to know we are here to help.
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