The Weight of the Hold

It’s the disrespect of the timing,

the way it ignores the “all clear” we celebrated in November.

It didn’t just knock; it broke down the door,

bringing its uninvited chaos into rooms where we were finally starting to breathe again.

So now, the air sits heavy in my lungs,

a jagged stone I’m forced to carry while I play the roles:

the worker, the parent, the nurse-sister , the encourager, the pillar.

Learning to Exhale

But you can’t hold a ghost of a breath forever.

Learning to exhale isn’t about letting go of the anger,

I want to keep that fire; it’s the only thing that feels honest right now.

It’s about realizing that if I don’t let the air out,

there is no room for the strength I need to sit by her side.

Exhaling is the quietest form of rebellion.

It is saying: You may have taken the peace of November,

and you may be trying to take her body,

but you will not have my ability to simply be here nor her will to fight.

So I breathe out the “why us” and the “not again,”

just for a second,

not because the world is better,

and certainly not because cancer deserves any grace,

but because my sister needs me to have oxygen in my lungs as we battle to dominate the cancer in hers.

We rinse, we repeat, we fight.

But first, we let the breath go.

Even if it shakes. Even if it hurts.

~Micaiah