The head meds began about 18 months ago. However reluctant for far too long, the daily menu of melancholy and self-loathing needed definitive adjustment. That alone was challenging enough, my weepiness had reached unprecedented new heights. I couldn’t stop crying – even at the most inane programming. Ten minutes into SVU and the streams ran down my cheeks as a puddle began collecting around my my neck and collar. Even tickled, which I oddly enjoyed. Something had to be done. And that little bitty pill made all the difference. I raise my glass to Science! The well of tears all dried up and the mental flagellation became so much more palatable.

Until I got the call. That dreaded call. Imagined in many incarnations throughout the years. The big C! More tests were needed – could only confirm its existence. The shit inside me. The leech of all leeches. Motherfucker!

I cried. Unexpected and muffled at first. But she found her way and was now free to express. I questioned whether I wished this upon myself? How many nights had I quietly imagined my funeral? The guest list – the imagined poignant speeches. Who was not in attendance and why? Where were the guilty!! What was found on the laptop that wasn’t already known? (Yikes!!) Other than the absolute genius of his prose. Natch! Maybe finally published?!

You agree to remain calm and exercise the powers of positivity. Smile and think in heroic terms. Strength and valor! You are the dark knight ready to rise like the phoenix and conquer the worldly demons – this nasty, evil, lecherous cocksucker in particular. Cut to Couch. Mission fulfilled you grab the remote and watch your beloved Liv like all is normal. You joke about forgiving Rollins. So funny. Hah!

But there’s nothing normal. The facade is tough to maintain. Pain body’s on hold and anxiously waiting for commercial break. Fucking Peacock!

Walk the dog. Or rather walk young Satan. She chews the leash, keeps pulling, randomly lurches at your knee with those razor baby teeth. “No! Stop! No bite!” It’s all meaningless to her. “Fuck you, pops! Gimme another 3 months to calm down. But for now – I own you, bitch! You’ll scoop my shit and even wash my cunt because … I own you, bitch! Hah!!”

I want to remember everything. Today, I want to revisit all random memories and direct the scene. Storyboards, fellas – let’s see what’s truly important to inform the audience of our protagonist’s character development. His loves, his lies, his disappointment, his regret. Fuck that, let’s keep this moving.

I want to tell my daughter. I want to hold her. I want to tell her how much I love her. To not be afraid. To forge ahead. Don’t let that C  win. Fuck that bitch!  Be strong, my angel – we have lived so much together! And perhaps those memories will continue to build as our journeys move beyond all we currently know. I so want to walk down that aisle with you. To hold and caress that next generation. To know you too are loved and protected. And safe for your own future life travels. Your dreams must sustain mine.

I left the room, a mouthful of macerated mush and mucous. Really, not much eaten so what the fuck!? My Askim, so, so patient. She’s devasted inside and it’s killing me – her sadness. She cautiously sits by me as I struggle with each meal. Holds my hand with soothing warmth and unflappable compassion. Last night when I returned from the bathroom, she was crying. She came to me, engulfed me within her embrace, told me how much she loved me. I could smell her sweat, her perfume, the warmth of her impassioned squeeze as her sadness pierced my fragile, stoic wall. She lifts my soul from under its weathered stone. The Cliff Stone. She too spoke of a broken heart, but solely for what she now was forced to witness. The inequity in the spiritual roulette of who may be chosen – the question of when and ultimately why. She declared I was special with conviction. And good. So good! I smile. The essence of love blossoms in a cloud of darkness.

Her love and selfless spirit within has slowly begun to glow. She, … my rock and my Canim. We face the music together, no matter the song played. “It was just like a movie. It was just like a song.”  It was like those Fabio novels of eternal romance and everlasting love! My Canim Jitterbug Perfume!

Scene Fades to Black

Morning

I ran through some possibilities. Potential endings. Hollywood? I questioned. Quietly. What if? I couldn’t bear to tell her I had been practicing this possibility for years. My father’s last gift and lesson, a peaceful farewell. So stoic. Calm, yet so anxious – is that possible?  Back to me. Not convinced the timing was apropos. Could I negotiate? Just a few more? #Goals. But still prepared.

More to come …