I watched from my bench
On the sun-dappled lawn
As the cool glow of morning
Aged to radiant noon.
From youth to prime
In naught but hours
With n'er so much
As a backward glance,
Disdainful of its hapless plight.
Scarcely had the Day begun
When shadows bent from earthly things,
Yet steadfast to its mission bound,
It envied not the youthful light
That shall tomorrow take its place,
But with unselfish wisdom
Shed its golden beam upon the earth;
And when the distant western sky
Let go the aged, fiery disk,
Whence, for hours, it reigned complete,
Precious little time remained
To cast upon the glistening haze
A brief reflection of the Day
Whose life had touched eternity.
Lauren Isaacson
August 23, 1984
"Of Butterflies"
In a shaft of yellow light
A monarch captures on her wings
An ambered, opalescent glow
While sailing on the Breeze of Life.
A seeming drunken path she weaves,
As if berefit of aim or goal,
For fields of flowers compose her world
And nectar sweet sustains her breath.
So high she flies
Yet sees no more
Than that which self-indulgence brings;
How glad am I
That through these eyes
I see more than the butterfly.
Lauren Isaacson
August 24, 1984
Aug 27, 1984… I had a tension headache tonight. It finally went away after talking with Mom. Sometimes I wonder if I'll die the same way Norm did… I have a bump on my thigh… who knows what it is! Then I was thinking how every time someone sleeps in the other room or near me on trips, I wonder if they're "gonna die on me." What a drag it was to find Norm. Strange how I always kept an ear peeled for Norm; sometimes I wonder if we have a 6th sense that tells us things apart from the conscious world.
Sept. 1, 1984… I'm such a turd sometimes; I hate myself. I always balk when someone starts to sing, no matter who it is; Mom loves to sing, and with her it's also an emotional outlet. Whenever she sings though, I cringe and she stops. Today she was going to sing a song (that told a story). I uttered a small protest. She stopped, apparently quite hurt. After I did that, I felt like nothing, but there was no way to recall my "ugh" once breathed into the air. She said, "I have feelings too," in answer to my, "I'm sorry, Mom!" and went downstairs. When I'm writing I'm an intolerable creep to be around. I don't know why I didn't think first and be considerate. She always listens to my writings, no matter how trivial; why can't I abide a few notes of song? I wish I knew why song grates so heavily upon my ears… it always has. I most certainly have a terrible voice and use it only on the rare "happy birthdays" and so forth. I'm kind to society in that regard, at least. For now, I wish I could find a .45.
Mom came up and we talked. I feel better now. She felt sorry for being too sensitive and what she called "uppity," and I expressed my regrets too. After a cry, we both felt better. I guess we both felt rather stupid!
Sept 6, 1984… Mayo Clinic sends out a form letter for its Statistic Unit. I wrote… "It has been nearly 3 years since my re-diagnosis of cancer and I'm still alive to tell about it. As the afflicted area is my liver, I experience the symptoms generally associated with liver diseases (so I am told), such as over-heating and water retention. My liver has expanded to such a degree that casual onlookers sometimes mistake my appearance for that of a pregnant woman. I was once asked when I was "due"! Perhaps I should've said, "I don't know… so far I'm 36 months along."
So much for my reply to Mayo Clinic… I sometimes find it hard to believe I've lasted so long; liver cancer is seldom smiled upon as a long-time acquaintance. If it weren't for Big C, I'd be real healthy! I also stated that should some breakthrough be discovered for the curing of leiomyosarcoma I'd appreciate notification. . . until then, it is best to create one's happiness each day. I worked more on my story… it's fun to do actually.