I must check carefully in the mirror each morning, to look for signs of changes to report to my doctors. Each morning, I search and each morning I find one unreportable change. I swear there is a different me looking back from the bathroom mirror. Oh, the face changes a bit, brought on by treatment with certain medications, and there is a bit of new beard to remove. But, there is something deeper.
It is in my eyes. Each day my eyes are frighteningly different to me. Having survived another day, and finding that God has granted me yet another day to live, brings a wistfulness and joy simultaneously that somehow deepens the depths of those familiar brown orbs and maybe the light flickering in those depths burns a bit brighter. Maybe I just expect to find fear, anxiety, and deep sadness there, and I don't find them...just the knowledge that I have another day to live.
Eye to Eye
The image in my mirror keeps changing,
Each morning, I rise to face a new face.
It's not that the parts are rearranging,
Or this morning, my nose found a new place,
Like somewhere behind my left ear to hide...
And yet, they are shocking to realize,
When I focus on the place they reside.
Look past the bright bathroom lights and the glare,
When I stare into the depths of my eyes,
And shiver, for that's not me standing there;
Though he looks like me, the right shape, right size,
But the eyes focus much farther away,
Grown wistful, deeper, and darker each day.