Mercury Poisoning Part 6

         
         
            So a few years into the new millennium I find out I have cancer. I'm like, "Are you fucking kidding me?".

Really, it just seemed so unfair. Then, after the initial shock wore off, I realize no one has probably ever thought it

"fair" to end up with cancer, or AIDS, or any other serious illness for that matter, right? And as it turns out, I got

off easy- no chemo or radiation required, just surgery that puts me in what is technically referred to as "surgical

menopause" at 32. It's not as sexy as it sounds. Take my uterus, I'm not using it anyway- the same could be

said for other parts as well! But time marches on and before long I reach that all important five year cancer

milestone, and both of my kids are really smart and funny and I am so proud of them I could just burst. My

daughter turns eighteen and has my dark red hair and her dad's brown eyes and a great big sunny smile,

topped off with a sweet little overbite that years of orthodontia couldn't completely "fix". She is complimented

on this gorgeous mouth, without fail, everywhere she goes. It's true: What makes us different truly makes us 

beautiful. She starts college and my son is in high school and is just so smart and sweet, with the big, sturdy

build of a linebacker but the soul of an artist. As for me, I seem to find myself breaking down. I am so near

forty and I can scarcely believe it. How did the years slip by so fast? I am a weepy mess and thanks to the

internet- the best and worst invention in the world, if you ask me- I find myself spending a little too much time

watching Queen videos and the precious few interviews Freddie deigned to give over and over again, and in no

time at all I've developed a serious case of Mercury poisoning. This man has seeped into my soul and burrowed

into my heart again and if there is an antidote, I don't think I want it. I'm like a moth to Freddie's flame- and he

flamed quite beautifully, by the way- and now that I am older and wiser, I realize how badly this poor man was

robbed. How much the world was robbed of God only knows how much more beautiful music in that genius mind

of his. Like I said, I have always liked Queen, I just can't believe that it's taken me so long to realize that I'd barely

scratched the surface of the absolute splendor that is Queen. I cannot go a day without hearing "Love of My Life"

and "You Take My Breath Away". To be quite frank, I'm listening to "A Night At The Opera" and "A Day At The

Races" over and over again, like a mental patient. My sister accuses me, on a long car ride to Philly, of "raping

her ears" with Queen (and she's a Queen fan too, by the way), but I just can't help it. I worship at the altar of

Mercury and have become a zealot.

            I am so raw emotionally that some of these songs break my heart. I can't stop listening though, and find

myself on the verge of tears all the time. I am shocked and more than a little disgusted by the emotional mess I've

become. I am a woman who has spent her whole adult life carefully crafting this elaborate wall that makes Fort

Knox seem like child's play, but now it's showing cracks in the foundation and I don't know what to do. One day I

find myself talking to a co-worker who mentions in passing her infant son who died years ago, and I hear myself

saying out loud, "I lost a baby boy too". I speak of him to no one and if you didn't know me back then, then you

know nothing about him and I like it that way. My mother and sisters rarely discuss our past. Who needs to be

reminded of how fucked up we were then? And this lady and I are not close in any sense of the word. No offense

to her, she's nice enough, but I do not get too close to anyone. And the guilt and shame I feel over that part of my

life is palpable, even after all these years. It's still not easy for me to admit that I didn't want to be pregnant then.

I wanted it to go away. Then he died and a part of me died, too. I feel like I've spent my life trying to forgive the

unforgivable, but lately I'm starting to think that maybe I've been kind of harsh on a mixed- up young girl who

was just trying to get by. It may be time to cut myself some slack. So I find myself crying a little for my dead son

and this time, I cry a little for that crazy girl I was so many years ago as well, and this co-worker hugs me and I

think to myself... "See, this is the kind of shit that happens if you let your guard down". Then I realize..."This is a

good thing".