When I die give what’s left of me away
to children and old men that wait to die.
And if you need to cry,
cry for your brother walking the street beside you.
And when you need me, put your arms around anyone
and give them what you need to give me.
I want to leave you something,
something better than words or sounds.
Look for me in the people I’ve known or loved,
and if you cannot give me away,
at least let me live in your eyes and not in your mind.
You can love me best by letting hands touch hands,
and by letting go of children that need to be free.
Love doesn’t die, people do.
So, when all that’s left of me is love,
give me away.
Before I had cancer
I knew I wouldn’t live forever, but thought maybe I might
I cared what other people thought
thanked my feet for carrying me
my kidneys for doing their job
and almost always ate my vegetables.
When I had cancer
I feared I might not live at all
and my eyes cried for days,
and I realized I didn’t really care even what
much less anyone else
and my body felt like a time bomb (traitor) that only I could hear.
After I had cancer
I stopped living all of my unlived lives
and realized that having always done my best
was, actually, having done enough
and I ran into something I didn’t recognize,
but It felt a little like joy
of course, it might be the Lexapro.
But sometimes it seems I’m crying still
in dreams I don’t remember.