Photo by The Style Crone
Sometimes Nelson’s disease has great pull – sucking me down into its vortex as I watch him struggle with lethargy, which is so unlike his nonchemo self. The Style Crone is still blooming, but her roots are bound with sadness as the cumulative effects of the powerful drugs infuse his every cell. I let the sorrow take me over for now until I feel its release. Tears fall for the life we had hoped for during this time; travel to far distant shores, exploring the world and our love of differences. I want to grab him and snatch him back from the grip of this overwhelming and selfish disease and its equally devastating treatments. They take him to places I can’t experience because his journey is different from mine. I don’t feel the chemo drip into my veins or feel the effects of its poison. I am parallel, having my own thoughts and feelings but powerless to change what’s before me. I have spent years in warrior pose, but now child’s pose presents itself to me more frequently. Without the energy to empty the dead flowers from the green Asian vase on the 1920’s blue glass living room table that sits next to the reupholstered 1940’s burgundy/gold patterned “king chair” that has been Nelson’s royal throne for years. My outfit lies in waiting on this day.