My Crisis Years Ago

This happened to me twenty-two years ago. I thank God I am still alive. I feel the ripple in my life's cycle, impending risk that could rape my soul. I look in the mirror, but no tears flow. A virus cramps my shallow feelings, an ominous glare that obscures. The pungent smell of disinfectant the impersonal looks of nursing aides, the indifference of certain medics, the fearful looks of other patients, the smell of living death. The surgeon comes, examines, prods, feels listens. Like an auctioneer's hammer, going, going, gone. The verdict is announced, a triple by-pass, serious but operable. "Don't worry, man!" I look up at the wall that surrounds my cell, and see Him hung on old worn wood. Is it so difficult, Lord, to die? Am I on my own in here? Will I survive? A tear trickles slowly down my cheek, but now my inner self is lit. I wake up from my stupor. Life is a pattern, mapped 'til our death, but no man walks alone. I smile, I receive faith. A glow illuminates my soul. Tomorrow I may be dead, but I am sure, Sweet Jesus, I will survive, for meekly I accept Your will.