I just tried the online dictionary thing to see how Merriam-Webster defines the word. But my computer is acting silly and I'm not a patient man. I don't really need to see what Merriam-Whoever thinks it means.
Earnest Hemmingway once wrote: Courage / aka Guts is Grace under pressure. There ain't no clearer definition.
The mother of my children is dying. Cancer. The prognosis is within weeks, if not days.
Fate comes on cat-feet, unavoidable and bloodthirsty. The moment you are born your death is foretold by your newly minted cells as your mother holds you up, then hands you to your father, who gently tickles the stomach where the cancer will one day form, studies the eyes where melanoma's dark signature is already written along the optic nerve, touches the back where the liver will one day house the cirrhosis, feels the bloodstream that will sweeten itself into diabetes, admires the shape of the head where the brain will fall to the ax-handle of stroke, or listens to your heart, which, exhausted by the fearful ways and humiliations and indecencies of life, will explode in your chest like a light going out in the world. Death lives in each one of us and begins its countdown on our birthdays and makes its rough entrance at the last hour and the perfect time.
The cancer was discovered in January of this year. She was having difficulty breathing and had a cough that wouldn't go away. X-rays revealed a tumor. Inoperable. For those that pass judgment, she has never smoked a cigarette in her life.
She has undergone the brutality of chemotherapy since that time. Suffered through it all without - count 'em - one word of complaint. She lost her hair and her beauty, as beauty is known to most. And she suffered though the nausea and the inability to eat anything and keep it down. She did all this knowing there was little hope. But she is a fighter and fighters fight. They only have one way to live. Or die.
We were married for 19 years and have been divorced for 20 years. She is an honest woman, a wonderful mother and was a good loyal wife. Her only mistake in life was choosing the wrong man. I wasn't, and am still not marriage material.
My son's pastor just this past Tuesday asked her what did she want him to pray for. She replied: "Pray that my children and grandchildren will be alright and that there will not be too much pain."
We all like to think that we are tough, we can cut it - bring it on. Horse****. Nobody really knows just how strong they really are, if they really have guts until they are face-to-face with death. No escape.
She is right with God. She is not afraid for herself. She is still directing all her thoughts toward the welfare of the kids and grandkids. She has courage. She has guts. And I admire her and I love her so...
My real name is not Bob Lee, it just happens to be a name that I like. But her real name is Jeanette. And I ask that readers include her in their prayers, this - and her last - Christmas.
Thanks to all readers for reading this far-too-long thread. But I didn't know how to make it shorter.
Earnest Hemmingway once wrote: Courage / aka Guts is Grace under pressure. There ain't no clearer definition.
The mother of my children is dying. Cancer. The prognosis is within weeks, if not days.
Fate comes on cat-feet, unavoidable and bloodthirsty. The moment you are born your death is foretold by your newly minted cells as your mother holds you up, then hands you to your father, who gently tickles the stomach where the cancer will one day form, studies the eyes where melanoma's dark signature is already written along the optic nerve, touches the back where the liver will one day house the cirrhosis, feels the bloodstream that will sweeten itself into diabetes, admires the shape of the head where the brain will fall to the ax-handle of stroke, or listens to your heart, which, exhausted by the fearful ways and humiliations and indecencies of life, will explode in your chest like a light going out in the world. Death lives in each one of us and begins its countdown on our birthdays and makes its rough entrance at the last hour and the perfect time.
The cancer was discovered in January of this year. She was having difficulty breathing and had a cough that wouldn't go away. X-rays revealed a tumor. Inoperable. For those that pass judgment, she has never smoked a cigarette in her life.
She has undergone the brutality of chemotherapy since that time. Suffered through it all without - count 'em - one word of complaint. She lost her hair and her beauty, as beauty is known to most. And she suffered though the nausea and the inability to eat anything and keep it down. She did all this knowing there was little hope. But she is a fighter and fighters fight. They only have one way to live. Or die.
We were married for 19 years and have been divorced for 20 years. She is an honest woman, a wonderful mother and was a good loyal wife. Her only mistake in life was choosing the wrong man. I wasn't, and am still not marriage material.
My son's pastor just this past Tuesday asked her what did she want him to pray for. She replied: "Pray that my children and grandchildren will be alright and that there will not be too much pain."
We all like to think that we are tough, we can cut it - bring it on. Horse****. Nobody really knows just how strong they really are, if they really have guts until they are face-to-face with death. No escape.
She is right with God. She is not afraid for herself. She is still directing all her thoughts toward the welfare of the kids and grandkids. She has courage. She has guts. And I admire her and I love her so...
My real name is not Bob Lee, it just happens to be a name that I like. But her real name is Jeanette. And I ask that readers include her in their prayers, this - and her last - Christmas.
Thanks to all readers for reading this far-too-long thread. But I didn't know how to make it shorter.
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