Book - draft - Part 1

And then they all rejoiced in unison, singing their sweet praises, creating a soft hum that filled my lungs, my heart and my soul with the realization that it was going to be okay, that everything was going to be just fine. The blinding white silk that lay against the angels sculpted bodies made me feel warm and unconsciously sleepy. I knew then that I must be dreaming. There was nothing okay about chemotherapy. My journey with this disease would last long past this books birth and my eventual re-birth. I knew I would never find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and despite my tears for knowing I would never indulge in this occasion I wept tears of joy too. I was alive. Thank God I was alive.

How it started. I clearly remember his face. The first boy I had a major crush on. He had warm brown eyes, eye lashes that collided with one another that created a thick blanket, and, well, crooked teeth. But the last part didn’t bother me. He introduced me to a foreign world, one I had never even touched let alone held. I never had a boy interested in me, more importantly I had never had feelings for somebody that I could not understand, tame or appreciate. Looking back it only lasted as long as a minute does when washing your mouth out with Listerine; most likely the longest minute you have ever been apart of, but in retrospect it was only a minute. Well, this “minute” was the beginning of the rest of my life.

He was poised and never dramatic. His voice was matter of fact as well as his body language, this much I remember from our first conversation. That and one of the many side effects he talked about. “Taking the high levels of prednisone and chemotherapy you are at higher risk of becoming sterile, unable to have children of your own.” Nothing is processed mentally, physically or emotionally in your first hour of darkness. My shock was quickly interrupted by a Superman strength that would take over for years to come.

He broke up with me. Yes, and it was quite dramatic. It was made official on the night of my 19th birthday, drink in hand and a slammed door in my face. “You know everyone thinks you’re Nuts.” Looking back bursts of laughter come from my belly, a deep true laugh, but at the time his impression of me, his attitude towards me, his actions against me, were devastating, truly heartbreaking. The months to follow were grueling. A cloud of depression loomed over my head, and any time I shrank away from the pain and the devastation, I was clearly reminded of my reality; F’s in every single class, 16 pounds lighter, old friend’s long gone and new friends puzzled by my drastic turn towards the “dark side.”

I remember being six years old waiting for my mother to stop bargaining with the cashier on the price of okra’s. Vista was one of my favorite grocery stores but only because it was right next to an ice cream shop and of course I got to see Christina. Looking back I don’t believe I knew her name. It was a made up name that I assigned to her. She had long blonde hair that was a bit static, beautiful baby blue eyes and the hottest pink fake nails this side of the Mississippi. I loved her. I did not know her but I loved her dearly.

The Journey of Alaskan Salmon

And like the fish swimming upstream, beating itself fiercely against the the rocky path, against the current, bleeding on its way to its destination... you too will venture on your own journey, fighting against the path of great resistance. The path you chose. But you must always remember that the best journey's are the ones that bring you home.

Dedicated to Eva

Four little girls in summer dresses, with blue satin sashes, carrying pocket umbrellas in case of a drizzle. But it is a warm sunny day on the promenade and there is nothing to fear in the weather, only the stain of the sun against their porcelain skin. They journey together, skipping awkwardly, but quickly towards a shallow creek. Bursts of giggles are absorbed into the aged tree trunks surrounding their “secret hiding place.” This shallow creek has been a part of many secrets told, some in whispers, and others by just a look from one shy girl to another. Regardless, this place was special. And as they aged, becoming the best of friends, they never forgot the days spent by the creek. But as more time passed life got in the way, and some moved to other countries, others found new secret spots, and those left never recovered. Not until the death of one of their own would bring everyone back. Back to the beginning.

(Our secret spot was the apartment swimming pool in L.A. Little did I know that would be the last time I saw you. After watching I Love Lucy with a bowl of rice pudding, you complained of being tired and went home to sleep. You died in your bed on a hot summer July day. Your parents still said hello to me every morning but the bags under their eyes grew bigger and bigger. I know you are among angels. I love you).

A lie.

It was a decision I will never regret.
It was not a choice I was allowed to make.
His actions sabotaged any choice I initially had.
But it was a decision that changed the course of my life.
I am still living in this change and have not yet recognized the gift that I have given to myself. However, each day, each challenge, each breath taken on my own, without my partner, has been that much harder and in return that much sweeter. I am slowly falling into a rhythm that is my own. But even I cannot blind myself to the hatred that pours out of me. I realize that there are certain things that happen to us along the way that cannot be healed with sweet words or a simple gesture, but I still long for a quick fix. I think we all do. Pain is hard to endure and no one should suffer more than is needed. Although we may think that we are done morning the loss of a chapter in our lives, we may not be. And that is why the pain still remains. It is how you turn the pain into energy that will help close doors and open hearts. You must use that energy, filling yourself to the utmost core with whatever emotion or thought that engulfs you at the time. You must never forget your past, continually live in the present and for god’s sake don’t ever refuse to live for your future. You will always be somebody’s child, somebody’s very best friend, and if you are lucky somebody’s mother, somebody’s wife. You will always have a purpose in this world, just remember to live it.

The Language of a Haiku

Haiku is one of the most important forms of traditional Japanese poetry. Haiku is, today, a 17-syllable verse form consisting of three metrical units of 5, 7, and 5 syllables. Haiku is the smallest literary form with the most rules. Here are a few of my own.

When we were once young
Our naive world ran free.
And now life burns truth.

Gentle fingertips
Caress the small of my back.
A cherished effort.

My decaying mind
Burned by florescent work lights
Trapped in a gray box.

The old dog sleeps sound,
Leg twitching, chasing rabbit.
The wood floor echoes snores.

Spanish lullabies.
She closes heavy eye lids.
Baby breath, heaven.

Your face sketched in time
Slowly ages, grows weary
Of death approaching.

Things I wished had been.
Dreams turned real for a short while
Collapse under me.

The winter hungers
For drops of sun bending down
Igniting a change.

Your smell is still strong.
Your voice fades into the night.
The blackness chokes me.

A Normal Person with a Boring Job

You are better than any lie you have ever told.
You are smarter than any book you have ever read.
You are braver than any superhero you cherished as a child.
You are in one word a WOMAN. And you are here to change the world.
Be what you are too afraid to talk about.
Accomplish what you are too timid to admit.
Do not shrink back behind the shadow of your male counterpart.
Do not allow yourself to be expendable, but rather show everyone the true potential of a woman who’s armed with confidence.
GO. Paint the canvass of this world with all your brilliance.
Live each day as if it was on purpose.
And if you were once that little girl, whose mommy never said, “baby when you grow up you can do anything.” I’m here to tell you ... You can and you will!
Go child. Go see the world. You will never regret it.

A Collaboration of What was Once Written

The history of the past must be remembered in order for its burial to mean something.

When I am with you I feel like a little girl in my red apple dress I used to wear, with pigtails and candy juices that have dried in the corners of my mouth. I don't know what fat or ugly means yet, and all I know is that this little boy next to me is considered my best friend, and I like to hold his hand and tell him secrets in his ear, with my hand covering my mouth of course, god-forbid anyone should hear that blue is my favorite color, or that I can do two cartwheels in a row.  I want him to be my best friend all the time, and he and i giggle till we sound like high pitch trumpets...and all of a sudden I forget my name and all I want to do is run around in circles until I get dizzy.  Seeing mom and dad kissing on the mouths, I do the same to him to show him I like him, his wet lips on mine. Afterward I try so hard to make him all mine that I inhale him like steam from wet concrete on a hot day, then I giggle again, and fall asleep in the best kind of silence. 

The countless times I have imagined you coming home, back to me.  Different images playing in my head, merging colors of thoughts and emotions.  I was waiting on the porch.  It was snowing outside, and the temperature dropped so low, that the cold air almost felt hot.  Sometimes when I run my hand under hot water it eventually feels cold.  I think its my mind playing tricks to help me handle the pain.  The cold outside, on that late night, was like the running water.  I would have stayed out there an eternity if I was sure that you would come home.  I never wear socks.  Even inside the house I cant stand having my feet covered.  As I wait impatiently, but almost hesitantly on the wet concrete, my feet are introduced to nothing new, and I am unfazed by the pain starting to form in the balls of my feet.  Sounds of yelling drunks go unnoticed.  The light post flickering onto the icy road is just another unneeded distraction.  Despite the cars speeding past, creating the slush sound, tire on snow, the sound I love so much, there is a still, the calmness that comes with every storm.  You know the nights of heavy snow, and noticed silence, streets emptied of busy bodies, lights through glass from a corner bakery shinning onto the walkway no more.  Those are the only times being alone isnt frightening or depressing but in fact embraced, wanted, and appreciated.  I am alone, waiting, wondering, how you will look, will you still have the same smells, how soon will I once again remember your distinct voice, and what will that do to the heart that has missed you for so long.  I'm wearing your shirt, which was once white, now contains many stains, and a new color of what I like to call off white.  I have on one of several pairs of my baggy, gray, hospital sweats.  Will you still think I'm the most beautiful woman you've ever laid eyes on?  I have lost weight and look healthier.  You loved me fully, and without hesitance when I had lost all familiar physical traits.  I have gained a new self, a new look  But does that matter?  Did it ever? Will it now?  I am less sick but still with a lowered immune system I wait, and wait, under the sky that soon suffocates me with the heavy realization that you are not coming home.  That I will sleep alone under the waves of black sheets.  I used to see your face everywhere I looked.  Staring at my white walls or the window looking out onto my porch, but worse was the inside of my swollen eye lids.  The most painful part of losing you, and finding me, is now I cant remember what you look like, and the white wall really is just the white wall.  I guess we both still have pictures, and a love you said would never die.

 Her bare calves naked to see right below the dress she holds on smoothly rounded shoulders.  A fire red dress. Movements of her graceful hands, and a laugh heard across the room which echoes off the wood floors, her heel tapping, never to see her face, only the silhouette of her embrace to another man.  And so he waits.