Truth (Nothing, Cozy, Temptation, Lighthouse, Paint)

There was nothing of warmth or comfort in the sterile room. I closed my eyes and tried to escape to a happier time, some better place. But the black screen of my eyelids still carried the image of the florescent light above the exam table, posing too large of a distraction to the image I was trying to conjure of a cozy little cottage on the beach. I waited for the light to fade so I could sink deep inside myself into total blackness...so I could yield to the temptation to disappear, to make myself so small, so tiny, that no one could see me. Not doctors, not nurses, not friends, not family. No one who would crease their brows and fill their eyes with sympathetic warmth when they came to see me. No one who would paint over reality with murmured platitudes and clichés.

“Hang in there.”

“Be strong. We need you.”

“You’re a fighter, you can beat this thing.”

And the biggest lie of all, “You will be all right.”

I know I will never be “all right” again. At least not here, not in this place.

I wanted to be alone, to lick my wounds, to cradle my suffering close to my breasts and rock it to sleep. Or better, I wanted to be with someone who would speak truth to me. Truth with a capital T. Truth that would let loose my spirit so I could break free from the chains that held me to this little patch of earth. I wanted to talk of eternity, of God, of souls…of my soul especially. Not of treatments and medicines. Not of appointments and plans. I knew it was time to move beyond these things.

I needed someone who could bravely and honestly look at the beacon of my illness flashing from my emancipated body like a lighthouse on a shore warning ships of dangerous shores ahead. Someone who could face death with me, embrace it, walk with me to the edge and wish me happy travels.

~Belinda resides in North Carolina with her husband, three children, and one dog. Unfortunately, her fish died this week. Visit her blog at Upsidedown Bee.