December 12, 2014

swamp juice

     An endless knot, no beginning, no end, everything intertwined.  As a wave of grief returns, my son's condition deteriorates.  I am so close to finishing medical school.  Why now?  Couldn't these things wait just one more month?  But why should I think that the end of school would be any easier than the rest?  Further more, why do I think that these episodes will end with the beginning of residency?  Foolish whims of an aging man weakened (or strengthened?) by unrelenting pain.  To survive, I must find meaning in it.  I must confront it again and again.  I must integrate it into who I am. 
     During this chaos of emotions, my sister-in-law gave me my brother's old juicer.  One of the many things he tried in his battle against cancer.  He called it "swamp juice" and hated the taste of it.  But still he did it.  The juicer sits gathering dust.  Eventually, an impetus from nowhere arises and I use it.  It doesn't taste that bad to me.  Am I doing it for health reason?  Do I think it will prevent cancer?  No.  I do it in remembrance of him, an intimate communion.

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