The most polite of inquiries, doctor. Minus formalities, is my father truly the sickest patient in your emergency room? Being that you are so absolute, one could still attempt a convincing argument. A simple redirect towards my mother’s chart may prove to be quite persuasive. Of course a jest best kept to one’s self, either falling to deaf ears or being deeply misunderstood. After all, who am I to compare a little kidney failure to pancreatic stage four?

So is that it, breakfast with friends then dinner with ancestors? A brother, a sister, both husband’s in hand, a daughter with child, and a son. What of them? Ignorant enough to ask, I’ve never been much for explanations, just a small sorrowful knack for rhetoric questions. Perhaps it’s the fear that keeps us so blinded, petrified to trickle luminance upon an answer. Even when nurturing the absence of light, it still remains the only answer I’ve know to be so aggressively true, for so very long.

Within the wake of our heritage, an ode chimes to a woman. The woman to whom I’ve know the longest. On the bright, you were always the sharpest end of the sword. Respect, honor, love; countlessly earned and always well deserved. Although our yesterday is history, tomorrow is all but a faint mystery. Will it take boundless strength? Perhaps …or maybe just enough to murmur those ever so confident words; fuck goodbyes, fuck mortality, and most of all, fuck cancer!

Shroud your precious eyes from the presence of false suns, beat this and we will meet again in the shade.