“I’ve decided to unplug,”
“Unplug? Where are you going?”
“Oh, I’m not going anywhere; I’ve decided.
I’m just not going to do anything.”
“You mean…but you’ll die that way.”
“I know. I’ve decided to unplug.”
We’d just heard the news a few weeks ago. Wait. Weeks?
It has felt like weeks. I mean days.
For months, she had complained of feeling “off”, “unwell”, “out of sorts”.
She couldn’t pinpoint it, so to me it sounded like nothing.
She’s dying of cancer.
Her belly full of writhing, replicating balls of free radicals.
Her ovaries deteriorating.
We anticipated, and she prepared us for,
liquid metal to be dripped into her veins.
For her to plug into the magic,
of science. Of medicine.
Hail to the chief.
The God of Now.
But she retreated, after while.
They’d caught it earlier,
but it wouldn’t change the outcome.
She knew it, and we did, too.
But to hear her desire to “unplug”
was a painful exercise in anticipatory grief.
What’s best for you not being best for me.
A rejection, a “break up” of sorts.
I knew I respected her, immensely!
But the grief, and all its components of ugliness,
I wanted to be present for her to give her the love she deserved,
but being present meant bringing the anger, too.
I grew quiet with my thoughts.
I never had to make that choice.
The cancer was no match for
The God of Science
when it ravaged me.
I know there would be a battle, but
the troops were on my side.
I’d purchased dragons.
I had the wildfire.
Alone, I stood on that battlefield,
and The Lord of Light defeated
But she knew, with her troops surrounding her,
that she must be sacrificed.
And so, strong and sure,
she prepares us all,
to trudge along without her.