Sometimes in these quiet moments of chemo, I'm so happy that this drug is soaking into the malignant curly fry that was trying to turn me into a side order, I'm taking it on. I look at my Mom and Dad's pictures, And then their spirits come to me. I close my eyes and the tears come--they are honey-syrup warm not salted with grief. Their names Fred and Anne.
And they come--the way my Dad would be reaqding a book and get excitred when I came home and shout, "Fritzie!" and the way Mom's eyes would glow deeper as I entered the kitchen and seh was telling me she went shopping and got me some Hagen Daz chocolate chocoloate chip ice cream.
Their love for me floats and settles into that tumor soaking and filtering out the bad for their son. I feel that jellied warmness spreading out through me, bringing in all the support of others, and it might sound odd, as I sit there, with closed eyes as the chemo flows into me and all this healing is thundering through me from others, I feel...I feel...happy.