Siv was a fantastic writer and a very gracious woman. She is now Saint Marty's Poet of the Week.
In the Planetarium
by: Siv Cedering
And I lean back into the chair
as my mother must have
leaned back under the space
of my father's body.
A small light, a comet
approaches the sun.
My father's seed
approaches
my mother's. A soft laugh,
and I begin
to inhabit the space that grows
to hold me. Cells divide,
atoms spin
solar systems around me.
The comet's tail
is blown away from the sun.
My tail shrinks
in my mother's sea.
I grow fingers, toes. The arm
of the galaxy
will hold me
When I leave one space
for another
space.
This poem makes me think of my parents. They raised nine kids. Made tons of sacrifices, every day of their lives. One of my sisters has Down Syndrome. I nearly died when I was thirteen and I lapsed into a diabetic coma with a blood glucose of close to 1000; I was in that coma for two or three days. My brother had a stroke about five or six years ago; he died last year. And, of course, right now, another of my sisters is battling lymphoma of the brain. My parents have been through a lot.
I talked to a really smart friend this afternoon about my sister's illness. I told my friend how I'm so conflicted in my feelings. I want my sister to get well and come home, but I don't want my sister to live a life of continuing diminishment. A few years ago, my sister brought me into her office at work. She asked me to sign an Advanced Directive, named me as her advocate. In the time we worked together, my sister and I talked about our wishes in the event of life-limiting circumstances. My sister never wanted any kind of extraordinary measures used to sustain her life.
My friend asked me how I felt about my sister's current treatment. I told her that, if the chemo is successful, one of the blessings would be that my parents wouldn't have to bury another child in their lifetimes. That would be grace for my parents. However, I'm not a believer in trying to keep someone alive by any means necessary, which is what most doctors try to do. If treatment itself makes my sister's life an exercise in misery, I don't think my sister would want that. My sister's life is going to be shortened by this illness. I want my sister to have a life of dignity, no matter how long she lives.
I'm trying to put myself in my parents' shoes. If my daughter was ill, I would want the doctors to do everything in their powers to save her. That's the truth. Maybe that's why my sister talked to me about her wishes, because she knew my parents wouldn't be able to make the hard decisions. I just hope my other siblings are able to make those difficult choices, if need be.
My question this Ives dip Monday is this:
Am I a horrible person for having these thoughts?
And the answer from Edward Ives:
And then Ives blinked and found himself standing on the sidewalk beside his wife, across the street from the Church of the Ascension. On the pavement, just by his feet, was a large piece of canvas, and under it a body, stretched out. Then the officer lifted off the canvas and shined a flashlight onto the face to reveal the shocked and bewildered expressions of his son.
That's it. Saint Marty is going to die and go to hell for being a cold, unfeeling bastard.
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