July 8: Glorious Life, Smartest Person, Matthea Harvey, "Michelin Man Possessed by William Shakespeare"

Glorious life ending.  There must have been a moment when his son had gasped for air, the last time, as Jesus must have.  But as Jesus had risen, he wanted his son to rise up, organs and spirit and mind intact, and everything to be as it had been not so long ago.

Ives has this thought not long after his son is murdered.  Robert's death was so sudden and unexpected.  One moment, he was a happy high school senior, planning on entering the seminary.  The next moment, he was a statistic of crime and poverty.  Ives longs to return to his happier life, wants his son to emerge from his bedroom and say "Hey, pop, what's up?" like old times.

I understand Ives' thinking here.  When life changes drastically in a short period of time, nostalgia is a natural reaction.  Yes, I'm going to talk about my sister who's ill again.  Forgive me.  She's on my mind a lot.  I get updates daily on her condition at the University of Michigan.  I also spend much time thinking how different things were a year ago.

My sister is the smartest person I've ever known, and I've known a lot of smart people.  Poets and mathematicians and doctors.  My sister could read the manuals for complex pieces of medical equipment and have them memorized.  Literally.  She knew medical laws and regulations better than any risk manager.  People respected her opinions.  Trusted her.

For the last four or five days, my sister hasn't been able to talk.  Today, she spoke a little.  She said part of a prayer with my other sister.  The Hail Mary.  The words weren't completely clear, but she was obviously responding.

She is never going to be the person she once was.  Next week, she is going to have a brain biopsy.  Terrifying.  The goal of the doctors at the moment is to get her stable enough to come home, I think.  Nobody is talking about prognosis right now.

I miss my sister.  I miss seeing her at work, sitting in her office, telling people what to do.  It's almost as if some other creature is fighting to control her.  Like she's possessed by this thing that doesn't want her to eat or drink or talk or think.

Like Ives, Saint Marty wants his sister to rise up, organs and spirit and mind intact.

Michelin Man Possessed
by William Shakespeare

by:  Matthea Harvey

I've taken many forms over the years,
but this may be the strangest one.  I see
through his eyes but cannot shed a tear.
I can feel his feet, but am not free
to leave this spot by the garage.  I think
he feels a kind of love for the balloon
who bobs nearby.  Each day he sees her sink
an inch.  Though I want to tell him of the moon
and slippered feet in marble halls, these tires
at our waist are a mischief.  I make believe
they are couplets of rubber, but barbed wire
would be more apt.  It's very hard to breathe.
Make us a man, or make us a machine--
but do not leave us trapped here in-between.

He's scary, even if he isn't possessed