“He’s in our thoughts and prayers.”
“We are sending a blanket of love.”
Those are words I read today about a boy, who like Art is
battling his second round of cancer.
He’s doing a better job than Art did
and I’m NOT doing a better job at begin gracious.
Instead, when I read those words of love
Ms. Cynic thinks
“Save your breath!”
“Those good thoughts and prayers
If they did,
I wouldn’t be writing this column.”
Silly, stupid, people.
That boy died earlier morning on Friday, March 26.
The grief sucked me down its whirlpool, shame followed
And anger was fast on its heels.
Only this time, I bobbed to the surface
Before I got too much water up my nose.
The whirlpool didn’t take me down as far and I am not as disoriented.
I cry because I know where his mom will go
I know the journey of loss
and the idea of someone I know walking it
Makes me scream myself raw
and punch trees
and crumble to the floor and say
“Why her? Why her?”
I wanted those silly, stupid people prayers to work.
I really wish they had worked.