Since a few of you reached out to say you're still around, wanted to share something.
There's a literary magazine that we've read for years called The Sun. Part of their magazine each month is their Readers Write section, which asks people to submit pieces to a pre-selected topic.
I haven't written much at all in the last few years that wasn't work related, or geek focused (Dungeons and Dragons). This is my first piece. For anyone who read the blog, it will be familiar territory.
Not sure if it will be published, but it was good to write again. The topic was Trash.
Trash
I’m standing above our garbage can on Sunday night, trying to decide whether or not to throw our daughter’s radiation mask away. It’s a surprisingly hard decision to make.
For those of you fortunate not to know, when a 2 ½ year-old gets brain cancer and they need radiation treatments, radiation technicians make a rigid mask to bolt the kid’s head to the table so they don’t move. The mask is made out of the same material as a cast for an arm, but it’s formed into a mesh. Imagine a luchador mask merged with fishnet stockings.
To make the process less scary, and maybe even a little fun, child-life staff come in and help the kid paint the mask in a way that makes it more approachable. Amelie painted hers a rainbow (without green, never with green!). She went through the radiation treatments with the same ease that she did everything, no matter how torturous.
She died over 6 years ago, and the mask has sat in the garage since then. When I look at it, I remember all the art she created, the jokes she would tell the doctors, and the constant questions she had for the world. But I also remember the horrific radiation burns, slowly forgetting details like the lyrics to “Do you want to build a snowman?”, and how she stopped eating for the last few months.
I place the mask in the garbage bin and gently close the lid. In the end, the sad stuff wins out for today, but not every day. Not if I can help it.
