I sat and looked into your eyes,
Not speaking,
For the news was bad.
I am a  young father,
And I want nothing more
But to watch my children grow.
But such is not to be my lot,
As grandchildren I will not see,
And it's not fair,
And I'm angry,
And I want you to be angry too.

But it is the legion of counselors coming,
And they will teach me grief,
And anger,
And denial,
And acceptance.
Would somebody just get me a drink?
And make it a strong one.
And no, I don't care if you think it appropriate, or not.
For this is not about you,
And I will not solve it with you,
Or in your way,
Because it is me who will die
Before my daughter marries,
And really, what in the hell does that mean to you?

So you want me to read the "how to" manual of dying,
But I'm afraid that it will not be an orderly progression, For me.
If it becomes too orderly, I will do what I can
To bring chaos,
For you have no idea the depth of my anger,
And too,
You know not how much I want to live.
I am fifty,
And just barely have I achieved
Full flight.
I have children,
And I want to watch them grow,
Today, tomorrow, and the next.
Can you promise me that?
And would you promise me that if you could?
Or is this just about you,
And you watching your children grow?
And it's so important for me to accept,
So that I bring no disorder
To the rest of humanity.
Well, get ready,
Because I sense that this will be messy.
I love this life,
And I want to keep on living,
And loving,
And if I cannot,
Then I cannot go peacefully.