My last meal, I don’t even remember it now. Pasta I think.

A few Sundays ago. I could feel it coming.

Finally,

I have been sentenced.

Not for life, well, my life anyway.

Though a, hopefully, considerable chunk.

There were no tears. Just questions.

Half answers. Maybes. Probabilities and possibilities.

Hope! Yes!

But the sour sort.

The “its not so bad as it could be” sort.

The “not my worst fears” sort.

The “lots of time left” sort.

The “please be on the look out for” sort.

What can hurt quite like a diagnosis?

Nothing.

A problem can be so intangible. So far from reality.

Symptoms can be anything.

Its not until the cause is chased down and pinned with nets,

that’s when it really sets in.

Like how a check engine light might mean the gas-cap is loose, might mean the transmission is going out.

Until you get it into the shop, run some tests, and put a name to it. A cost.

Then it stings.

Coughing is a symptom.

Cancer is the problem.

Hell is a symptom.

Sinning is the problem.

Headache is a symptom.

(Still haven’t nailed down that problem.)

Once the problem is defined it becomes true.

The infinite what if’s

become dreadful

what now’s?

In many ways I’ve always been just waiting for this.

I can’t tell,

not really,

whether my life just ended

or just began.

There is so much I can do,

and so much I cannot.

So I guess there wasn’t much changed, going from that ordinary Saturday to that fateful Sunday.

I’ll just never be the same again.