I know what the shadow of death is now. It's sitting in the doctor's office beside my Dad, staring at the folder lying on the desk that contains his recent test results, and knowing the information within foretells the future, yet not knowing if I'm strong enough to withstand what's coming. It's watching him struggle to make his way back after cancer surgery, almost falter, then walk almost as straight and tall as before, although not quite the same. It's knowing he's making trips to chemo every Tuesday or Wednesday, hoping, praying, that not one teeny tiny cell will slip through, then scared to death with knowing there's a possibility it will. It's trips to the ER after one scare, then numerous more, and wondering how I can continue to keep breathing when my heart is breaking into tiny pieces. It's hearing reasons why lives that are in progress can not be interrupted, compromised or shared with someone at the end of theirs and never understanding the whys. It's family discussions about not understanding, misunderstanding, all the in-between places that lead to the possibility, no eventuality, that the life of someone else we love could be ending and wanting to scream, "How can you not willingly be present at such a time?!" It's listening, sighing, praying, needing, hoping for a miracle that I fear may not be granted. It's holding tight to someone I'm terrified of letting go of and feeling lost. It's reluctantly knowing, and dreading, that time is running out and eventually he will slip away. This is the place that holds captive all my tears, my soul, my heart that aches like nothing else can or will.
This is the place that has become so painfully familiar to me. I hate this place.
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