it was like this

It was like this:
you were happy, then you were sad,
then happy again, then not.
It went on.
You were innocent or you were guilty.
Actions were taken, or not.
At times you spoke, at other times you were silent.
Mostly, it seems, you were silent- what could you say?
Now it is almost over.
Like a lover, your life bends down and kisses your life.
It does this not in forgiveness-
between you, there is nothing to forgive-
but with the simple nod of a baker at the moment
he sees the bread is finished with transformation.
Eating, too, is a thing now only for others.
It doesn’t matter what they will make of you
or your days: they will be wrong,
they will miss the wrong woman, miss the wrong man,
all the stories they tell will be tales of their own invention.
Your story was this: you were happy, then you were sad,
you slept, you awakened.
Sometimes you ate roasted chestnuts, sometimes persimmons.
–Jane Hirshfield
 I sit here looking out at the verdant forests of Lebanon, New Hampshire at Dartmouth Hitchcock Hospital, using the often inaccurate and potentially lethal iPhone dictation, as my left hand has been rendered virtually useless thanks to the paralytic aftermath of seizures(how many times, for those who have used this function have had near misses and professional or personal fatalities with erroneously interpreted language?
You might be telling your mother-in-law that you just bought a new truck and iPhone dictation interpreted it as something else entirely, rendering your relationship deeply scarred requiring further explanation. At the moment I’m given this great opportunity to reflect in relative peace despite being interrupted every two hours by nurses and doctors and with the drip drip drip of the new high dose chemotherapy I am being administered, methotrexate requiring a five night stay and another five night stay in two weeks followed by an MRI. I write this out of a desire to continue my explanation and exploration of this meshegoss (Yiddish for f*#ked-up) uncharted journey. The tumor continues to grow unabated and I am trying this drug, which normally does not cross the blood brain barrier but it is thought that in high doses it may succeed given previous studies. This is a drug normally administered for leukemia and lymphoma among other diseases.
And I will start the whole process over again in a few weeks with an MRI to see if anything has worked. I refuse to think that the road continues to narrow into a dead-end but will have spur trails that will lead us in new directions.
There’s no question that the equal exchange between hope and the loss of hope has played an interesting war of the worlds within my psyche. There is not a day that goes by I don’t find something across my screen that inspires hope whether it’s a new trial therapy or another new potential option but yet nearly all of these are in the very early stages of application. I do know that the approval process continues to be tweaked to be sped up but the advancement of science requires time and resources.
For me, I think Joni’s got it right. “We can’t return, we can only look behind from where we came and go round  and round and round in the circle game.”
This blog written in memory of Melanie Delonge, friend, neighbor, my daughter’s first daycare provider. You are missed and loved.

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About moosevt

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6 Responses to it was like this

  1. Colleen says:

    Your words are so beautiful, and meaningful. I miss your wonderful spirit and cannot wait to see you.

  2. Bill says:

    thank you Mark…sorry it took so long for me to get here…so, all I can say is I love you and am thinking of you with even more immediacy now….thank you Mark…thank you

  3. Karin Mallory says:

    Mark, damn it, you bring me to tears every time I read your words. I miss Mel too … I can’t believe that our girls were there together all those days ago … And here we are circling again. I can’t wait to sit with you when you return from this round. We’ll look at Pete’s cows and I will share with you the outpouring of heart-felt support that is growing about the fundraising effort. To quote my Dad, it’s so cool. Thinking of you. Enjoy your music. And the trees. And your thoughts. And know how big the circle is of people who think you are pretty fantastic.

  4. Jen says:

    You have such a beautiful spirit, Mark. Your humor, honesty, insights are always a wonderful reminder to be awake in this life and to notice, cherish, honor what we can while we’re here. Love

  5. Amy Harlow says:

    I miss Mel, too . . . and read your words with utter amazement for your perseverance. xo to you, Mark. Let me know if there is someone I can wave to in your honor!

  6. jcain75@verizon.net says:

    Just to let you know, you are touching this life among the many th

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