I did everything right. I loved life and celebrated it. I attended church faithfully. I prayed to a big G 'GoD', I paid my tithes. I married a good woman and remained dedicated to her. I was a good father. I donated to charities. I was the definition of a good man. I was happy, blessed even. College, career, marriage, breeding...
An early death...
Death and Taxes
Couldn't be sudden, couldn't be peaceful. I did everything right. Everything. Fucking cancer. A slow miserable death. My doctor told me, he was a friend so as he was telling me, he was sobbing. I was numb. The room was filled with a wet blanket. Sound was muffled, the air oppressive.
"How do I beat it?" That what I asked, not how long I had. No, in my arrogance I saw myself as one of the people who fight and survive, I never thought to ask how long I had left. Though he told me anyways. After detailing different treatment plans, mostly different poisons and radiations to flood my body with. He told me, without improvement, six months.
I was dead in five. The entire time I fought. I knew, KNEW, I was going to beat it. I watched my body decay around me. Hair fall out, skin turn into thin see through paper, clinging to bone. I watched my family give up before me. I watched the church pray for my soul. Right to the very end, when I was seeing things and barely conscious I still thought I would survive.
I don't know how long I wandered the halls of the hospital in a daze. Unaware. It found me, lifted my caul and drifted away. I was dead. In my arrogance I didn't see it coming.
I lived a good life! This isn't how you repay someone who did everything right! This isn't the way a kind and just god repays a man who lived in service of it!
I fought for my life and there are those of there out there who take their lives for granted. They need to be taught that there's a cost to health. Me.