Why now? Why?

“So this is how it ends?”

“My name is Inigo Montoya… prepare to die!”

And the swords just start flashing like flint hitting steel.  A fantasy for me, since the reality of the conversation was so much worse.

“We’re going to stop treatments for a bit.  See if we can let your body rest and hopefully come up with a better plan.  This isn’t the end, but what we’ve tried just isn’t working any longer.”

Gee thanks, I guess I can sleep better at night knowing that we’ve tried but failed.  Actually when I look at it that way, there is a somewhat positive spin to that.  Trying and failing, better than failing to try?  But the results are the same no matter what perspective you place on things, ultimately my body is going to shut down little by little and then we get to answer one of the great mysteries, ‘Where do we go when we die?’  What lies ahead, what came before, is anything certain in life?  Sorry that last sentence is a line from some lyrics that keep racing through my head.

I’ve known this information for a week now and have kept it completely to myself.  Not a phone call type things with my family and since I don’t talk to my friends anymore, no one has heard yet what the plans are.  I need to go home for a few days to help my brother with something, a life change of his own, but a much more positive one.  That’s what I’m letting them worry about, good things.  Nothing can change my information.  That knowledge can be learned we it’s ready.

So I plan with the lawyers, make sure everything there is in order.  My mind thinking about the beginning of Mission Impossible, the show not the movie.  A line of det-cord sparking towards a bomb.  The timing unknown.  And it doesn’t scare me anymore.  It hurts, it is frightening in many ways, but there are things to be done.

Before leaving my house last, I boxed up some things and labeled a few others on their reverse side so that they end up in the hands of the right people.  I’m not worried, the person who will handle that I trust to do the job.  I picked someone who barely knows some of the recipients, no emotions to be tugged.  Hopefully some people will understand why I kept some handmade card for a decade or more, and why it is now being returned.

This blog is going to go sideways for a little bit while I continue to process all of this.  So many changes lately, time to figure out where to be, and who to be.  Angry, sad, frustrated, just accepting of it [which is the worst part because accepting something of this nature while admitting to having bouts of depression usually gets people’s spines all twisted up!].  I want to fight, but I also know that other things will get pulled into the fray of that action.  Just because I need to know something doesn’t mean that I’m ever going to know it.  A really hard thing for someone like me to handle, I’m going to once again have to sacrifice for someone else.

About the only thing that sticks in my mind is hoping that I will be reunited with a few people in whatever sense.  I’m not a religious person, but maybe there is some small chance?

What season am I looking forward to?  Any of them!

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “In the Summertime.”

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