How did I get here

(writing for the voice of my son who has terminal illness) Reality is searingly intimate. But they say anguish, woes and sadness are emotions best shared. I am not saying I enjoy lamenting on them or heaping tribulations on others if I can manage these on my own with grace, tranquility and acceptance. Scouring out the dregs of my past is a notion unlike exploring uncharted territory, but like pain, I want to stare at it in the eye, no flinching. Yet I ask, when did all go wrong; when did the roads become forks and twists, and steep cliffs. But I could then peer on tiptoes over the edge, unafraid to take leaps of faith, always landing on my feet upright. When did the moment of divergence start? Life then made sense. Challenges I met with daring and a tenacity to execute and perform to perfection. There was relevance in chumming the waters, cloaking them with the grace and finesse that accompanies experience and excellence. Work was not a drag - I thrived in the eye of storms. Memories of the past are now more vivid than images of the present - I sense that everything seems to pause in a single still moment. Riding on motorcycles like the devil was on my tail, leading my co-riders zigzagging on dangerous trails - the idea of death was a vagrant who wanders another street. How I wish time is fungible - what I would give to be where I was, how I was, had been, always there, complete and fulfilled - satisfying needs, goals, ambitions - been there, done that is not my cliche. My heart is a stuck sled in the middle of a sand dune. Although I am in a world of stasis, expecting nothing, I realize I have this clarity of thought and unclouded focus to shed fear and panic as I stare death in the eye, so I can leave this world on my own terms. I want to dodge self-pity, dwell on the serenity of acceptance. There is an ethereal glow in the night sky - it should be an insanely beautiful vista out there beyond life. @jjote031024