Why can’t the world hear my crying?
Tears for all the years that passed
seeing dreams that never last.
beyond the time you can see
and when you open up your eyes
the dream has passed
It’s now too late
to dream that dream again
my heart is torn it can not mend.
My dreams are dying
and I’m crying
for all I have that’s left is pain
I lost it all with none to gain
I look in the mirror, I see myself
hoping to see where the years have gone
I made the cause, I was so young
Sharp turns to the left
that way was wrong.
tears fall, say please
as they stream down your face.
a longing look at the piano keys
I wrap my arms around my knees,
Crying tears of loss
Crying tears of pain
No one takes a step across
No one ever takes the time
No one ever looks to find
No one feels the pain inside
And no one cares about the tears I cried.
This poem was written in 2012 around the time of my liver transplant when no one took the time to hear me. I didn’t want to die, and I didn’t want to fully realize I was walking a very fine line. I still had things to. I wasn’t yet done living. I had been in a state of denial for many years. I still am. I was determined to live – to learn everything my body needed to live. I succeeded for a long time until the year I turned 54. It all came crashing down like a delicate house of cards made from one card too many.
I found the poem today when I was cleaning my desk, looking for one last book of blank checks. Some wounds are deep and they are almost impossible to heal. They go round and round in your head until you want to scream to drown out the noise. That is when I often choose to write. All through my life I have put my words on paper or music. I have also written many journals through multiple decades. I think it was a way to not lose myself; to not disappear- a need to keep me solid to prove I was here. A hundred years from now my descendants can still know who I was today.
I had know for years that the number 54 was going to mean something to me. I know this is going to sound strange, but I thought of it again when I recently wrote to someone who said she was 54. I was born in 1954. My father died when he was 54. He died from liver failure from alcohol. His body swelled with fluid until he looked 9 months pregnant. His father died, too, when he was 54. His body filled with fluid and it went over his heart and he drowned.
When I was 54 my body swelled with fluid and I had my first attack of ascites. I was in end stage liver disease and my body was shutting down. The week before I felt fine, but my legs were swelling and I was getting very think around the middle. The women who ran my doctor’s front office wouldn’t let me make an appointment with him because I had just been in, but after getting very angry they scheduled me with a part time doctor in the office who told me I was constipated and go do an enema. It got worse. I crashed my doctors office and demanded to see him. His jaw dropped. After he got done yelling at his office staff he gave me meds to take the water out. It worked but he told me later he was scared for me. Next thing to do? Pack up, leave key West and go get on the liver transplant list.
At the age of 54 I should have died. Without the advance of medicine I would have been gone. Many times, on this blog I have talked about karma – cause and effect. We carry karma with us. It is passed down through the generations. From the time I was in my 20’s I always thought that any year I lived after 54 would be a gift. I don’t even know why I thought that. My father was still alive. I just knew. The doctors at the hospital worked hard to keep me alive as long as they could, because I also had to battle liver cancer. Finally, 2 years past the age of 54 a liver came available that matched what I needed. Not all livers work for all people and more people die waiting for a liver for that reason. The doctors said I came as close as possible to death without dying. That is an eye opener.
But still, even now, I have to push through the damage it had done, and every day I tell myself I can do it. I can dream. I can still do things. I can start new chapters in my life. I’m off and running. I still have a few sharp turns to the left in me. I beat the karma. I’m 61 now and next July 2nd I will have my fourth birthday. Date of transplant. I’m a kid again. It will take a lot more than this to keep me down!
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