Dear Mom & Dad

Dear Mom & Dad,

Last year I was playing baseball. I'd run in the yard and down the hall. Mess up my room, fix some lunch. Then off to school to learn a bunch.

After school I’d shoot some hoops. Summers I spent camping with scouting troops. Then Big C set up his shop. Now I trot a few feet and have to stop. Order jumped ship, chaos followed. I've got sunken eyeholes, my skull feels hollowed.

Every day white-coated docs prodding at me. Then Xray techs and chemotherapy. I lost my hair a bit at a time, so my friend Joe made up a rhyme. It's about a boy went bald too soon who got sunburned head if out at noon.

Hairless old boy, ain’t I a beaut? Wonder if Linda would still say I’m cute? If only I could have a single kiss. Her smile is what I mostly miss. But, Linda’s doing her cheerleader thing. Wonder if she’d have worn my ring?Tommy will probably ask her out. I may plunge my face in a pillow to scream and shout.

If I Kick my feet and cry just a bit, Mama, you'd call it a hissy fit. Dad you try hard to act all strong. I know you think you've done wrong. I hope you know it’s not your fault. My love for you both will never halt.

Now I lay here in a hospital gown, trying to smile as nurses frown. Tried my best to pray for strength. Been on my knees for hours at length. God hasn’t answered either of us Mom ..., except with the big old cancer bomb.

Pain and fear they worm inside. Deadly cells in my marrow hide. Slithering deep into my guts. Rot and pestilence dig out ruts.

Pity and worry are all I see, whenevery my friends look at me. I know they’d rather be out at play than in this hospital with me all day. I try to tell them it’ll be all right. Though it gets harder not to fight. Please Mom, just send them home. Let them be outside to roam.

There's no need to try to give false hope. Fate tied a noose with my rope. Soon I think it’ll all be done: Barely walked, I’ll no more run. Just fourteen and barely started. Yet soon from life to be parted. All I wanted was a chance at life. To love another, take a wife. Cancer doesn’t care about fair. Young or old, here or there.

Yes Dad, I know it’s not the same; but can’t I have just one more game? Take me out to the old ball park. I’ll round the bases till it’s dark. I'll get my glove and toss a quick pitch. My last ‘At Bat’ before I'm benched.

Afterwards try not to feel real low. Just hold my hand, Mama, when I go.

All my love,

Timmy