Curtain falling

August 4th, 2014 § 37 comments

IMG_8773They were already seated when we arrived, a sea of white sitting cramped.

Mostly couples, though some were in girl groups.

They didn’t rise when we needed to pass by.

Clearly that effort would be too much.

I know how that feels.


Almost all wore glasses, most eventually pulled out bags of snacks or sucking candies.

No one texted or emailed or checked the time on a phone.

They all had small watches on their wrists for that.


In front of me a man had a bandage on the top of his head, white gauze perched amidst his silver hair, a good head of it.

I decided a funny looking mole, irregular in shape, had lain there recently; his wife pressed him to go see the dermatologist to have it checked.

The two looked out for each other, you see, having been together so long.


The air was still and thick and choked me as the minutes wore on.

I could see the veins protruding on the back of their hands, the wrinkles, the hunched shoulders.

We were the youngest there.

And while I felt more like them in many ways, closer to the end than to the beginning, I realize I am an outsider in every group.


There are few like me.


My hair won’t get that white, you see,

My hands won’t be rewarded with that saggy skin.

I won’t be privileged enough to see him go bald.

It will always be “in sickness” now.


The lights finally went down and I tried to forget.

But my body and mind do not ever let me.


How jealous I was of those elderly people crowded into a movie theater on an August Sunday afternoon.

§ 37 Responses to Curtain falling"

  • Lani (@lanisia) says:

    Beautiful, heartbreaking.

    Sending lots of love.

  • Gail says:

    Sending you nothing but love and hugs.

  • Gwen Ashley Walters says:

    You have every right to feel jealous (and a few other things). You are one remarkable person and I’m grateful for your gift of writing. Wish my mom was still here to share it with me. Sending you warm thoughts and good wishes.

  • Consuelo M Beck-Sague, MD says:

    I’m just one of the many, many people that love you, Lisa. We will never forget you. You have given us the honest view. God bless you always, and accompany you on your journey. May you always feel the sincere gratitude and love of those of us whom you have helped in so many ways.

  • Richard in Hawaii says:

    thank you, Lisa. continuing to send love and peace and strength and positive energies your way.

  • ashley says:

    So beautifullc written….so terribly true and heart breaking …God bless you lisa ,, ashley

  • Susan Moscareillo says:

    Sending hugs and love.

  • Michael says:

    I am jealous as well…..every trip outside of work is one of deep sadness and longing. Guess which is why I rarely venture out.
    Sending you love and light,Lisa.

  • Marisa says:

    Such a beautiful way of presenting the ugly truth. Thinking of you a lot.

  • Cathy Bruggeman says:

    This is lovely. Thanks for helping me to see the beauty in and the privilege that aging is. I appreciate your beautiful, honest writing.

  • Kirsty Aversa says:

    Thinking of you! Glad you ventured out.

  • Sammy says:

    Bless your heart. Sending love!!!

    John 16:33: “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world”

  • Barbara says:

    Dear Lisa,

    Beautifully written. My thoughts are with you.


    Barbara Shernoff

  • meri says:

    Lisa: Yes. Thank you. xoxox Meri

  • Diane Turner says:

    Poignant piece and beautifully written. My thought are with you, Lisa, and I send warmth and love your way.

  • beth cioffoletti says:

    just superb. thank you, lisa.

  • Janice Soll says:

    I am one of the few, like you. I completely understand. Lovely piece.

  • matt says:

    wow, very beautiful. thanks for sharing.

  • Sending you love. And wishes for many, many more movies.

  • Pam says:

    I have never followed or posted on a blog…yet your story and candor has made me a voyeur into your world. Your unedited honesty and raw emotion puts life into perspective. Your strength is an inspiration to anyone struggling…with an illness…a problem…life. Thank you for continuing to allow people to come on your journey.

  • maribel says:

    Sending hugs.

  • Louisa says:

    Your words of expressing the reality of life are incredible. I hope you will continue to do so for a long, long time as it awakens us to the reality and the possibility of living in the moment..if we can take that to heart our lives with whatever issues they contain, will become more satisfying and appreciated and we can do what you suggest for each day…to make it meaningful in whatever way we can. Thank you so much for your insight for today and goodnight with much love and caring.

  • Gianna Lascola says:

    Your eloquent words accurately and painfully describe life. Regardless of whether we have major health issues (like you and I have) the common thread among all humans is that none of us is guaranteed tomorrow. For me, facing major health crises seems to sharpen powers of observation and increase my need for expression. For me, writing helps me to live in the moment and appreciate all that goes on around me, of which I may not have been otherwise aware. Thank you for your rich expressions of self. They point us readers in directions that we may not have taken, but are worthy of the journey.

  • Mary says:

    I am in awe of you, Lisa. What a unique and beautiful way to convey your feelings.

  • Beautifully written indeed. Sometimes we find ourselves in a moment that seems to totally sum up an ocean of thoughts and feelings washing around in our heads. I can’t say anything to help, but I just wanted to say hi and thanks for sharing. You’re a wonderful writer.

  • Cathy says:

    very beautiful, thank you for sharing, Stay Strong!

  • Larkin Warren says:

    If there is any “return” on what you endured + may have yet to endure, it is that you are aware. Of love, of small moments, of day lilies and all the shades of hyacinths, and you know the value of every passing day. Some of us never get that, even in crisis + loss. As Tom Rush wrote and sang, “Adam’s prize was open eyes, his sentence was to see. The sailor longs for the land, the farmer yearns to the sea.” Your eyes are open. That’s a sorrow sometimes, but I believe it’s ultimately what we’re here for. And you love, actively, BECAUSE you see. And your loved ones know it. That’s grace, in spades—and you embody grace. Thank you for letting us “see” it, even on the darkest days.

  • JoAnn says:

    thanks, what words can I add to all the other peoples posts?

  • Tracy says:

    You’ve talked about something that I think will touch quite a few of us as we read it. It’s a very difficult thing to think about or to feel.
    I hope it was a good movie.

  • […] An incredibly moving blog by Lisa Adams. […]

  • Aileen says:

    Lisa – I love your writing, your outlook, and your spirit. Your words are beautiful and from the heart. Thank you so much for sharing the path you are traveling.

  • Valerie Peterson says:

    Your strength is amazing. What a lot of people take for granted is paramount to someone with a devastating disease.

  • Michele says:

    Wow! Speaks to me .. You write such gut level honesty and eloquence .. Thank you

  • Hope Barrone-Falk says:

    I’ll never forget the feeling of pure anger than rose up and overwhelmed my body when I saw a friend had posted a photo from her 10th wedding anniversary party on Facebook. There was an actual physical sensation of the anger mixed with jealousy pouring over me. Why did she get 10 years with her husband and I only had four years with mine? This was when we had just found out the last possible chemo option had stopped working for him.

    The emotions that come up around this fucking disease are horrible and they hit you in waves. I’ve learned to just try to let them wash over me until they go away. It sucks. Thank you for sharing your feelings with the world so eloquently.

  • Johnna Books says:

    Thank you so much for articulating so beautifully what I am feeling. I was dx’ed Stage Four mets to bones last week. I will find out Friday if it’s spread to other places. After the dx, I was reading the _Wall Street Journal_’s section on retirement planning and realized that I will never have that luxury unless a miracle occurs, and it ain’t looking too good out there. I need to be amongst my people and reading your comments were a great comfort. I know they may be able to find a “cocktail” that works but chances are slim (did I mention I’m a Caucasian woman with no family history and no genetic pre-disposition and have Triple Negative Breast Cancer? Did I mention that after AC, that I have a lifetime cap on, Taxol failed and this was before all the great new drugs TNBC has nowadays?) Did I mention that a very few, if any, folk understand what metastasized breast cancer is and are telling that all I need to do is find the “right” treatment and I’ll be FINE? Did I mention any of that? Because we’re not allowed, you know, not even in this enlightened age of pink and perky and hope. I SO feel your pain, sista! Thanks.

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