The Monster Hiding Under the Bed...

I pondered not posting this. I know the person who has the Monster is probably ten times more anxious than I can even fathom. But feelings aren't for hiding, or keeping a secret. And worries and fears are a part of love, and sometimes things need said, even cryptically.

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It's been a nerve-wracking few days and nights. The Monster is back. The one that causes the pit of your stomach to accept no sustenance, to make the minutes interminably long as you lay in bed and ponder every conceivable outcome, watching 1:00 become 1:01 become 1:02...

The worry, fret, anxiousness...

It's not even my Monster--but it is the Monster of someone I cherish, and that alone makes me wish it were mine, that they could be freed from the burden...

That back-stabbing Mistress Knowledge makes things worse, when you investigate the Monster. Suddenly you realize you haven't pondered every scenario, thought about every detail, known about every tiny intricate thing that may or may not be true...

As we stand on the precipice, trying to discern how far down Despair actually goes, you wonder: Is there a ladder anywhere? A rope? A back-hoe with enough dirt to fill it in, make it go away? How will money issues factor in?

Ahh, money. The Monster is not the consumer of it, but the Monster needs much to keep in control, or perhaps even kill it altogether...

For those who have been opposed and forestalled universal healthcare since the 90s--you are killing actual people, you know. As you sit in your homes and wonder, "Why do we need it, anyways?" I'll tell you--Monsters. That's why. Monsters that tear families apart in ways you only portray "the gays" as doing. Monsters that feed on the poor, the uninsurable, the "pre-existing conditions" that make a Monster have free reign on the human market.

I have some plans, some ideas that may or may not help. But Monday is the day when we find out if the Monster is, indeed, back. Monday is forever away--an eternity. It's almost a mockery of a weekend--brings whole new meaning to Monday Blues.

Am I being too... too flip? It's how I try to deal. When there's nothing that can be said or done, when words fail, when small acts of kindness are reduced to nothing... Flip helps, if only to stop an overwhelming sense of despair...

Dear Cherished One, you know who you are, and you are most likely reading this: Please know you are loved. In the silences on the phone, the over-chipper emails, the long, long nights when others are also staring at the stars, wondering what can be done.... You are loved. You are cared about.

And we will help you fight the Monster with whatever we have: mind, body, and soul.

I want to see you live long into your twilight years, sitting with me on the front porch of an old folk's home... Something named "Shady Pines," perhaps, or "Forever Meadows." We'll sit, and laugh, and reminisce. We'll drink lemonade, make fun of the other oldies, hit on male nurses way out of our league (not to mention our decade!), and wonder why the kids don't visit more often...

I love you. And am ready to fight for you, whatever you may need...