Friday, March 26, 2010


“He’s in our thoughts and prayers.”

“We are sending a blanket of love.”

Those are words I read today about a boy, who like Art is

battling his second round of cancer.

He’s doing a better job than Art did

and I’m NOT doing a better job at begin gracious.

Instead, when I read those words of love

And support

Ms. Cynic thinks

“Save your breath!”

“Those good thoughts and prayers

Don’t work.

If they did,

I wouldn’t be writing this column.”

Silly, stupid, people.


That boy died earlier morning on Friday, March 26.

The grief sucked me down its whirlpool, shame followed

And anger was fast on its heels.

Only this time, I bobbed to the surface

Before I got too much water up my nose.

The whirlpool didn’t take me down as far and I am not as disoriented.

I cry because I know where his mom will go

I know the journey of loss

and the idea of someone I know walking it

Makes me scream myself raw

and punch trees

and crumble to the floor and say

“Why her? Why her?”

Brooks….I’m sorry.

I wanted those silly, stupid people to be right.

I really wish they had been right.

Sunday, March 07, 2010


"You have cataracts" my eye doctor declares.

"I what?"

You have cataracts, she says, this time a little more slowly since I obviously don't understand her.

"But I'm 45 year old" I think.

Out loud I say, "Aren't I a bit young?"

She says "Yes but it was probably bought on by the low dose steroids you've been on for years due to your asthma.
There is silence.

She continues, "In 2 - 3 years, you can have this surgery that will repair your eyes to seeing better than you did when you were 20."

I'm not listening.

Who is going to take care of the kids and me when I have surgery? Who is going to help us for the days afterwards? Who is going to drive me to the doctor's office, go grocery shopping, tell look over Langston's should while he's on the computer or do Pallas's hair is done.

And the rage punches me in the back.

In sickness and health, in sickness in health!!

What about my sickness Art? Huh!
I did your sickness, what about mine!!!
I leave the office deflated and feeling old and

full of rage.

"You @)(*#$! You skipped out on ME!"