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TITLE (EDIT) Don't Replay
DESCRIPTION This poem was written from my grandpa's perspective, and I was inspired to write it because my aunt just recently got cancer, and my great-grandma had cancer too. So one day my grandpa was telling my mom about memories he had with his mom and it got me thinking what is going through his mind now that his own daughter has it. Ah, yeah so here it is, hope you like it! [388 words]
AUTHOR Swish S Wilson
ABOUT THE AUTHOR - [November 2009]
Don't Replay Swish S Wilson I’m driving down to the hospital today, again. What is this the twenty second, twenty third time. Lost count - just start again. As I’m driving down to the hospital I look out the window and replay: My mom’s laughs My mom’s face My mom’s headaches My mom’s vision My mom’s doctor Our tears. She was great - cooking, cleaning, cheering, anything you name it! Why her?  Why again? to my daughter. . . I look at the sky, blinking back emotions It’s a pretty day, at least it would be . . . My daughter-cancer-a tumor-we’re still learning about it. My mom-cancer-a tumor-behind her eye, well that’s what we thought, at first. It started with headaches, but we blew them off, then it effected her vision, so we took her finally took her in.  Doctor: “It’s cancer” he said it like it was no big deal, it won’t effect your life, or ruin it, Wrong! It does.  Doctor: “It’s okay though, she has it in the best place there is to have one, we’ll just remove it.” Sarcasm: Yeah that makes it better - we’re happy now! Surgery Day: my family waits and waits and waits. By the look in his eyes we can tell. . . Doctor: “It’s not good, it’s all over the brain. . .” trying to remove it is like sticking a needle in your eye, without going blind, or finding one in a haystack. IMPOSSIBLE shock. pause. tears. sobs. Even dad? But he doesn’t cry. He has a heart but doesn’t cry, like one of those rough tough cowboys, that don’t cry but he is. Real life: I enter the hospital another time she looks good for a cancer victim small talk avoiding subject just like mom. . . I don’t know why, but we allowed them to experiment on her, she was lost anyway. . . so we took her in, they’d release pressure, we would take her home and she was good for two weeks. The beginning was the best but when we neared the end she wouldn’t even remember her own son. so we would take her in, they’d release pressure, we’d take her home she was good for one week. She would be good toward the beginning, but then she would lose it again. I remember one time she was sitting in her chair, we all were dodging the subject, “everything’ fine” Then she looked up eyes like the sea, “I’m dying. Is anyone going to shed a tear” Then cam the flood. I went over, kissed her forehead trying to find those comforting words but their is none And it started again, only five days, then three, then it was done. I look at my daughter through glossy eyes Oh please don’t be a replay, not again, oh please not to her, Don’t be a replay.
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE © 2009 Swish S Wilson
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE November 2009	NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED 1285