A family member has been diagnosed with stage four cancer—it's metastasized, with a few dozen tumors throughout her body. Nothing left to do the doctors say, no surgeries, etc... and she prefers to forego chemo and focus on her quality of life. Over the past few weeks as we've waited for test results, her responses have oscilated wildky from hope to anger, denial and despair... Of course, I wish her peace and, short of a miracle, acceptance as well as a pain-free battle and exit.
I'm reminded at this time of a work colleague and his fatal cancer. He did not last long, but his quietly radical, surprising response to his terminal illness inspired me to write this poem, below:
In Memoriam
He preferred muted suits:
prison grey, mousey brown
before the death sentence
But illness changed his tastes
as though, dipped in terror,
he somehow acquired color
Blossomed in riotous patterns
sporting vests that grew bolder
as did the stomach cancer
The stealthy advance of blackness
brought forth a gleaming will
the bodily treachery, more trust
And that sweetly spirited protest
meant he smiled more, and softer
opening up as his body shut down
This was his last, graceful stand
emaciated and wasting away
in some way, to give style to death.
©Yahia Lababidi
(Art by John Tilson, with permission from the artist)