A Poem of Fears
Met with my “terminal illness” psychologist today. Had a really good session. We spent a lot of time talking about how I am now flowing with my cancer instead of fighting it. He’s a collector of poems and felt one of them was particularly appropriate. I’d like to share it with you. Substitute “cancer” for “pain”…
And must I, indeed, Pain, live with you
All through my life? – sharing my fire, my bed,
Sharing – oh, worst of all things! – the same head! –
And, when I feed myself, feeding you, too?
So be it, then, if what seems true, is true:
Let us to dinner, comrade and be fed; –
I cannot die till you yourself are dead,
And, with you living, I can live life through.
Yet you have done me harm, ungracious guest,
Spying upon my ardent offices
With frosty look; robbing my nights of rest;
And making harder things I did with ease.
You will die with me: but I shall, at best,
Forgive you with restraint, for deeds like these.
Edna St. Vincent Millay