Becoming

At first, I stood alone on the bare hill;
All around me was blasted and laid waste.
I gasped, my eyes swimming, I stood stock-still
For a moment, and turned to leave in haste.

But the path that my old life had followed,
Was in darkness, or was no longer there.
I looked up to the sky and I swallowed,
Then I cried in fear — and shattered the air.

I fell, I screamed, and I pounded the soil.
The curse from my doctor's lips I denied.
I grew angry till I felt my blood boil;
When it cooled, I collapsed, and simply cried.

Deep inside, a small voice: "You're not dead yet!"
A whisper emerging from inner void?
I gathered what courage I still could get
From my self-respect, so nearly destroyed.

Still shaking, I stood and I faced ahead:
A new path, challenging, rocky, and steep
Presented itself, but not where it led.
It was full of ravines that I must leap.

I noticed a small bench, off to one side,
Hidden in shadow and offering rest.
At once, I knew t'was a place I could hide
And wait for the end, a painless quest.

I almost sat down there, but then I thought:
"Why just wait with my mind shut and numbing?"
I began walking, though fearful and fraught,
To find out just what I was becoming.

Mick McKellar
August 2016

I was asked to write about some aspect of living with cancer. I remember the trauma of receiving the diagnosis and then the apparent failure of chemotherapy. Finally, I remembered having to decide whether to pursue a blood and marrow stem cell transplant, or opt for home hospice care till the end.

Mick