(2013) hello to stars, alleys & the folly of 51 days

i have spent 51 days waiting to see if i have cancer
that might seem abrupt, perhaps even insensitive
i don't rightly give a fuck
51 days 

getting ducks-in-order
my ducks are slightly mischievous & typically but in no certain prioritized order:
complex

myopic

hungry 

&

happy Game of Thrones is back on
spending 51 days in the pre-diagnosis paradigm plants me squarely alongside my mother

Norma
Norma first discovered her breast cancer when i was about 12 or 13 … she was 42ish
it brought a hard plastic bubble to my pollyanna-technicolor-groovy-childhood
and
i began to understand the fragility & chaos of life

i also understood cancer 

and the psycho-trippy shit it drips upon a family
my mother survived 

… but that darkness resurfaced 5 years later in her brain
she survived 

       even that for nearly 25 years

but she was forever altered in so many not-so-pleasing & warm-fuzzy ways
i understood the purgatory of symptoms--lumps, bumps & things that keep one up at night
i understood how until you know you don't---you do
i made my peace with cancer (aka death)
baked it a pie

took out it's trash

held it's hand

fought with it

yelled at it
buried shadow-parts 

       in alleys & my backyard in the violet darkness of night
then baked it yet another cherry pie
and
every every year on christmas eve would talk to the stars in a grateful seethingly angry sorta-way
i made my peace, sure 

but in a furious-angry way

my mother & i finally began to get along during the last two weeks of her life

nearly 25 years after that first lump & bump & scary thing

of course, we didn't know it was her last two weeks

but for the first time in a thousand years

she seemed happy

crazy-funny

hopeful almost 

& 

i was learning to appreciate her wit & caustic attitude

i am sure i don't have have cancer---nope nope nope

these 51 days are but a phase of my moon--a bit untethered 

barren

but rich in awareness
i have made my peace

and now it is okay

it is no longer furious & angry 

but golden rimmed in wonder & light 

i will be okay always 

     in large part 

to my mother 

who
rode in this rodeo 

and taught me the weight of my bones.
and i write this for no tea & sympathy
i adore tea

i loath sympathy
(i also appreciate cherry poptarts & large bags of almond m&m's)

i write this because this season smells of rain & the bark of the white birch
and
i write

well ….
because i have to
and
everyone has their very own 51 days sometimes
lost between stars

burying shadows in alleys & backyards

in the violet darkness of night