It’s okay, just stay open. Weep. 
Ask for help. Find someone to listen.
Explain how the sick and lost, the injured
and dying, take over your dreams, their smell,
their soft hands, their alien, bleeding shapes,
and how, growing older, you can’t find the strength
to dance among the yellow black-throated meadow larks
when people you love can’t walk, or swallow.
Remember: everyone has times of health
and times when they struggle not to die —
though more family and friends grow sick
each year, and you’re helpless to do more
than bring food and chat—when you just want
to be reassured that you won’t, ever never forever,
suffer, or die, like them. Not you.