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The Lighthouse
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<blockquote data-quote="New Leaf" data-source="post: 670593" data-attributes="member: 19522"><p><span style="color: #000066">The rain falls persistently in the late hours of this evening. Clouds cover luminous moonlight, casting shadows, shadows of uncertainty. </span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">Clouds dripping rain, a steady symphony of sounds </span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"> slowly cascading over rooftop, then eaves, </span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"> and on to the thirsty soil. </span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"> It is a thousand times a thousand drumbeats, slow, muted, sorrowful. </span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">Relentless.</span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">I am here, and yet I am not. I am lost in the in between. </span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">It is a chasm, deep, wet, cold and dark. </span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">The earth has swallowed me up.</span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">And yet I breathe.</span></p><p></p><p><span style="color: #000066"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">I awoke in the early hours, as if by other- worldly energies. </span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">Not able to find sleep, up I got, weary eyed, yet restless. </span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">My phone chimed, a text, from my sister. </span></p><p><em><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: #000066"> </span></span></em></p><p><em><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: #000066">Pulmonologist, </span></span></em></p><p><em><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: #000066"> </span></span></em></p><p><em><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: #000066"> mycobacterium, </span></span></em></p><p><em><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: #000066"> </span></span></em></p><p><em><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: #000066"> rare fungal infection. </span></span></em></p><p><em><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: #000066"> </span></span></em></p><p><em><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: #000066"> Mom.</span></span></em></p><p><span style="color: #000066"> </span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"><em><span style="font-size: 10px">Infectious disease center</span></em></span></p><p><em><span style="font-size: 10px"><span style="color: #000066"> </span></span></em></p><p><em><span style="font-size: 10px"><span style="color: #000066">18 month treatment, </span></span></em></p><p><em><span style="font-size: 10px"><span style="color: #000066"> </span></span></em></p><p> <em><span style="font-size: 10px"><span style="color: #000066">much like chemo</span></span></em></p><p><span style="color: #000066">As I write the words above, they drip off of the screen, with the rain sounds, melding into puddles on the floor.</span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"> <em>Call her.</em></span></p><p></p><p><span style="color: #000066">My fingers tremble as I key the number, </span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">drawing in deep breaths, </span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">the silence of the morning, </span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">the silence</span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">of </span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">the</span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">mourning.</span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">Moms voice is flat, shaky. She speaks in slow, forced words. It is not what she expected to hear. She is tired. She coughs. She is discouraged. She does not know what she is going to do, see the Doctors, find out.</span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">I hear myself telling her gently, "One day at a time, Mom, one foot forward. We are with you."</span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">Dressing for work, I am not in my body, I am outside, watching myself. </span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">I tell my son the news and I tell him to be ready.</span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">I call my daughter, and tell her to be ready.</span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">I go to work and tell my workmates to be ready.</span></p><p></p><p><span style="color: #000066">I cannot tell myself to be ready, I am not ready.</span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">I go throughout my day, outside of myself.</span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">My sister calls, separated by time, it is night here, </span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">two a.m. for her, </span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">she is awakened by other worldly energies.</span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">"I need to talk" She says. And we speak about what the Doctor said, what our guts are telling us, what we have learned from our days desperate internet search.</span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">"We have been here before, this game of uncertainty, with Dad."</span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">"Yes, we have."</span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">So opposite in nature, </span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">we are, </span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">but in times like these, </span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">drawn together.</span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">Sharing our deepest fears and anxieties,</span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">speaking out loud</span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">thoughts our siblings will not hear.</span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">"Mom is very, very sick, this may be it for her" she laments.</span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">"I know that sister, but you can only say that to me. Our brother and sister won't understand, they will not want to go there, you must measure your words with them and with Mom. </span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">I will be here for you, like always. You can share this with me, I will not be offended. </span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">We must prepare ourselves.</span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">Yet we are not God, nobody knows for certain, when anyones' time has come."</span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">A melancholy mist has come over me, like a fog. </span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">Uncertainty. </span></p><p></p><p><span style="color: #000066"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">I am here, and yet I am not. I am lost in the in between. </span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">It is a chasm, deep, wet, cold and dark. </span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">The sky has swallowed me up.</span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000066"></span></p><p><span style="color: #000066">And yet I breathe.</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="New Leaf, post: 670593, member: 19522"] [COLOR=#000066]The rain falls persistently in the late hours of this evening. Clouds cover luminous moonlight, casting shadows, shadows of uncertainty. Clouds dripping rain, a steady symphony of sounds slowly cascading over rooftop, then eaves, and on to the thirsty soil. It is a thousand times a thousand drumbeats, slow, muted, sorrowful. Relentless. I am here, and yet I am not. I am lost in the in between. It is a chasm, deep, wet, cold and dark. The earth has swallowed me up. And yet I breathe.[/COLOR] [COLOR=#000066] I awoke in the early hours, as if by other- worldly energies. Not able to find sleep, up I got, weary eyed, yet restless. My phone chimed, a text, from my sister. [/COLOR] [I][SIZE=3][COLOR=#000066] Pulmonologist, mycobacterium, rare fungal infection. Mom.[/COLOR][/SIZE][/I] [COLOR=#000066] [I][SIZE=2]Infectious disease center[/SIZE][/I][/COLOR] [I][SIZE=2][COLOR=#000066] 18 month treatment, much like chemo[/COLOR][/SIZE][/I] [COLOR=#000066]As I write the words above, they drip off of the screen, with the rain sounds, melding into puddles on the floor. [I]Call her.[/I][/COLOR] [COLOR=#000066]My fingers tremble as I key the number, drawing in deep breaths, the silence of the morning, the silence of the mourning. Moms voice is flat, shaky. She speaks in slow, forced words. It is not what she expected to hear. She is tired. She coughs. She is discouraged. She does not know what she is going to do, see the Doctors, find out. I hear myself telling her gently, "One day at a time, Mom, one foot forward. We are with you." Dressing for work, I am not in my body, I am outside, watching myself. I tell my son the news and I tell him to be ready. I call my daughter, and tell her to be ready. I go to work and tell my workmates to be ready.[/COLOR] [COLOR=#000066]I cannot tell myself to be ready, I am not ready. I go throughout my day, outside of myself. My sister calls, separated by time, it is night here, two a.m. for her, she is awakened by other worldly energies. "I need to talk" She says. And we speak about what the Doctor said, what our guts are telling us, what we have learned from our days desperate internet search. "We have been here before, this game of uncertainty, with Dad." "Yes, we have." So opposite in nature, we are, but in times like these, drawn together. Sharing our deepest fears and anxieties, speaking out loud thoughts our siblings will not hear. "Mom is very, very sick, this may be it for her" she laments. "I know that sister, but you can only say that to me. Our brother and sister won't understand, they will not want to go there, you must measure your words with them and with Mom. I will be here for you, like always. You can share this with me, I will not be offended. We must prepare ourselves. Yet we are not God, nobody knows for certain, when anyones' time has come." A melancholy mist has come over me, like a fog. Uncertainty. [/COLOR] [COLOR=#000066] I am here, and yet I am not. I am lost in the in between. It is a chasm, deep, wet, cold and dark. The sky has swallowed me up. And yet I breathe.[/COLOR] [/QUOTE]
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