It's hard to complain anymore, in spite of the torment I've waded through these past 3 years.I've tried everyday to express the magnitude of the assault that has been brought upon me in some profound way, but my words fall short. There is conceit in my glibness and foolishness in my aspiration. My efforts are genuine, though. I only intended to illuminate that which is so obscured in shadowy misconception and darkness.
I've been humbled by cancer, chastened by it's impunity, and now grateful for it's remission. I don't lament loss nor do I revel in triumph. Mine is a solitary pursuit of ordinary things and the comfort and solace of ordinary people.
I am finally starting to heal. Disassociating cells have shattered everything I have known, and yet, my humanity is still intact and empathic with sublime persistence. What is left of me is thankful for the man I've become and all of those who have helped me find contentment in that.
I am closer now to all of you, and like many of you, I find myself without words. Perhaps there are none, or needn't be, or , like me, we fear the words we fumble for; are they imbued with the right sentiment? do they convey how I really feel? must I say anything?
I celebrate my life everyday and I genuflect to the constellation of those who flicker radiantly in my consciousness with out whose endurance I would not find the stamina that I must. For that alone, I will not squander my gratitude in self-indulgence, I can't take the credit. Instead I will praise all of those seemingly ordinary people,with myriad personalities, uniformly committed to life. Their dedication is sacrosanct and in their open arms they embrace my fear as their own. It is my sanctuary, my home away from home.
I survive because I must, a gift ordained by providence, bestowed upon us at birth. And yet, it is ordinary men and women who protected my dignity when I was not strong enough to consider the implications of it's loss. And then there are the soldiers for humanity who trudge through viscera and fecal matter with selfless perseverance that is annealed in the flames of purgatory, where battles are won and lost, or postponed, if only for a little while, preserving time when it doesn't matter to you anymore, forever conscious that it does and how precious it is. It is with steady gaze their vigilance portends life, an ironical smile instills faith when momentarily there was none.
I believe with all that I know that God indeed exists... He lives in all of us, but He vacations in Chapel Hill.