Gazing Into Truth


I look at the white framed image of the man in front of me, his face revealing nothing of what really lies with in his soul, except his eyes. The eyes tell it all, their perfect brown circles staring out, trying to express neutrality, but can’t. They express the true meaning of the man, his inner core, his deep and true self.

And as I sit in front of this image and look deeply, really deeply into his eyes, I see the truth that lies with in that soul, and I see a truth that is so very cleverly hidden, or at least, trying to be hidden, but still unable to really disguise itself. A truth that even that man himself is trying to deny, projecting another truth for the world to see.

And as I look away from the image of those eyes, trying their hardest to conceal a feeling that the man wants to hide, I look down at the same time to see the cold steel do its damage, penetrating into the channel, working its way deep within to pull forth the precious fluid. I look, almost hypnotized as the fluid leaves the channel, flowing into the plastic tubing and filling the vials that bare my name in deep, bold sharpie marker.

I feel as the rubber band tied around my arm is loosened, and I release my clenched fist as if by habit to allow the blood to flow more freely, so that the seven vials can be filled with my precious blood quickly, so I could leave.

I look back into the mirror at the image of my self and see my truth. I look into my eyes, eyes that try so very hard to hide the truth that I am tired of this. Really tired of this. I look at my face, and I know that I wish it was all gone away, the nurses, the doctors, the tests, the operations, everything.

And I blink, and I know that it has not. That it will not. This is my truth now. This is my life. And so I wait as the seventh vial is filled and I look at myself and silently tell the image staring back at me that it’s okay. This is what it is now, and we are fine. We are alive, and I take a deep breath and let it go slowly from my chest, and I know that all I can do is make the best of it. Regretting it, hating it and wishing otherwise is human nature, and if I never visit those places on occasion, I will never appreciate that despite all that I have to face on this new journey, I am able to still do so much, albeit not as much as I could before. And that’s okay. It really is.

I watch as the needle is removed and I press the gauze tightly against my skin and wait for what platelets I have to do their job and clot the wound. As a bandage is applied to my arm I smile and thank the nurse and once more glance at the image of that man that so desperately wishes he were not here and I tell him it’s okay. We’ll get through this all with love, humor, positivity, and in the faith than we can. And I see his eyes brighten and a smile enters those pools of brown life, and he winks at me and I too know that it’s all going to be okay.

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