thoughts of family / 28 years old

28 years old

28 years old,
helpless
at the
bottom of the
stairs.
the surgery
had taken the
cancer
from my
body,
but had
rendered
a strong
man
into a small
child.
i watched
my parents
run around
half dressed
in the middle
of the night
as they prepared
a bed for
me
upstairs.
i couldn't
sleep downstairs
as i had
hoped.
the lazy-boy
just didn't cut it.
as strong as
my will
to care for
myself
was,
my body
did not have
the strength
to equal it,
to carry
my belongings,
my suitcase,
even my pillows
with myself
up those
stairs.
so i
broke the silence
of the night
and cried
for help.
it was
with every
painful step
up those stairs,
and in the
effort
to swing my bruised
body
into that bed
that had been
prepared for
me,
that i
realized
how
weak i am,
how
unable i am,
how i
can not
function,
live
without Love,
the Love
of a
mother
sitting
at the side
of my bed.
i saw in
my
mother's eyes
exactly
who i am
and
i cried
in
her
arms
like
her
28 year old
baby-boy.