I am the family resident writer so my mother asked me to write Troy's obituary. I told her I would. I still have not written it. She asked me if I wanted to do it again today and I told her no. I will. I have done some research tonight and it will need to be done in the next few days.
I also plan on writing my poem titled Mariella and Corbin by Monday night. It is about me washing dishes while watching my daughter and son play in the mud. I put some dishes away and when I turn around they are gone. This is because they never existed and will never be able to (I have no more news about my fibroid, but I have my fears). Maybe I will also write a poem about bleeding out on an operating table or waking up without a uterus.
I'm also dating a loser. I know this. I imagine dating a honorable man who respects me. We hike across the States and scuba dive in the oceans around the world. He brings me soup and leaves me alone when I'm sick. Later, he yells and punches walls because we both know he is dying sooner rather than later. I push the pain medication button for him as he grimaces in pain and cannot push it for himself. I'm not ready for love. I watch my mother not cry as she holds Troy's hand for hours. She pets his hair and kisses his cheek. He does not respond
to most people but mostly for her, he gurgles out a noise. She walks into her room and I hold her while she sobs into my shoulder. I do not know when I will be ready.
