So very much worse since I was here last, with pain and other fell things running rampant. Perhaps I'll hit a plateau, lower than this, and can work on from there.
Perhaps not. It's a fear that turns my knees to water. Fear of what happens ere death comes.
I can still take care of the dogs, mostly, but days are now spent sitting at the door to Barb's bedroom...it's the only room with aircon, and with the door cracked there's a cool breeze.
Plus, it's three steps to the dunny.
Time spent with the dogs, and cold Diet Dr. Pepper allowed to go flat in the freezer.
And time spent with C.S. Lewis, in Narnia.
Days to be endured? well, yes, in part, but I believe that this is where I am now meant to be. (Endure is the Five Minute Friday writing prompt for this week.)
You can't always get what you want, but if you try, sometimes, you just might find...you get what you need.
Cancer is not the end.
And the fight, while it last, is worth the fighting.
Long live Aslan, and the free Narnia of my heart.
But the nights...well, they're hallucinatory, and the sonnet below tells of what I described in the wee hours of this very morning, as Barb sat up with me.
I sought Barb to summon wife to me
upon her smart cell-phone,
for I truly took Barb (yes!) to be
Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones,
for we three must stand back to back,
and fearul watch must keep
against the fell and bold attack
of lethal flying sheep
who would plummet through the roof,
plunging from a coal-black sky,
crimson fangs to offer proof
of the worst of ways to die.
Came slow the morning, bright and cool,
and in the yard (gasp!) tufts of wool...
Here are the Stones and the Duke University Vesper Choir, with You Can't Always Get What You Want.
I do try to answer each comment in a timely fashion, but with Internet providers really stretched, I have only about half of the access I once did. Please bear with me!
Thanks to Carol Ashby, Blessed Are The Pure Of Heart is back on Kindle, and will be available in paperback soon.