daddy, when the cancer comes to get you it will mark everyday on your calendar that you will miss but circle SEPTEMBER 23 In blood red marker, tape it to the back of mind and show it like a projection every August. And I kind of despise the fall, because every autumn is your birthday, your death date which are one month and four days apart, I've done the math. When the cancer spreads across your chest, it will kiss you desperate, nickname you the flower of death and I wonder if a single petal held on in your final hours. The day you looked ten year old me in the face and asked me what I would do if you died, so foolishly I told you I'd die too. And not saying I'd commit suicide, but on September 23 I was ready to and for the past six years I've been waiting for the 23 to rolls round and I know it's coming up soon so I'll wait in the darkness of my bedroom with pills, or a gun, or a rope, but wait my ceiling isn't high enough- or a knife because sometimes when we drive past your grave I simply want to take the blade and slit my throat but you gave me the perfect amount of courage. And I'm sorry if I scare you when I speak like this, but your name is like a billboard of a death certificate. And when the cancer came and took you right from our strong grips I didn't cry instantly. Not that night, but a day after the funeral because I kept walking into the guest house and seeing your belongings and old crosswords but where the fuck were you?
~
Dylan, Poetic Boy with still hands, although I never met you I never needed to. Your words were enough to fall in love with and mayday has a sacred tone to it, if Carter or Nohemi would read this they'd know exactly what I'm talking about. Carter and I decided to find you a cavern, name it Dylan's Cavern, carve your poems on the walls and douse it in holy water and only the ones you loved could come in. It's being selfish I know, but when the cancer came for you it didn't regard any of us, when the cancer stripped you away I went spiralling down, and life was way out of my reach and to be quite honest, I didn't even try to grasp it like you said, instead I wondered about it. A week after it all sunk in I was ready to die again and I know you knew better than anyone what I've been through and now it's like all your poems make sense, you were foreshadowing your own death and I'm truly sorry I didn't see the signs, when the cancer took you I was angry, sad. A broken heart in the middle of a fire waiting to be rescued, but the prince had a cancer so strong, and don't think you didn't fight hard or long enough because you did all you could and if you got tired that's okay. We all get tired, but as of right now I'm extremely tired. Tired of you not being here, tired of very little understanding.
I'm very tired Dylan, I wish I had a new hopeful poem from you, even a simple I love you would be great I just want to see your words and see if my heart still skips the same way.
When the cancer comes to get you both, and they ask me to write about it I will look at them in their pitiful eyes and tell them, "I can't-cer."
Authors note,
I apologize for the length,but the message is far more important and I had to get this out knowing that this month will be tough and it's best to get it out and be upfront with everyone reading what I write. I'm human too, and I've experienced some terrible things in my life. These two impacting me the most, now you have a closer look at me and why I write what I write.
Xoxo,Makayla