Today I found out that there is no hope. My hands have got to get chopped off. I've been putting it off, the inevitable, but they've gotta go. No more skin grafts. No more botox to make them look younger. My ashy hands need to be removed. They are too old to survive eternity with me.
I think that these are the hardest things for me to give up. How many hours have I spent with a pen between these fingers, writing to you? These hands were the ones that held Liam's, before he died. And Domenica's. They are me. I've begged and begged to put this off. Doctors, so pretentious. They know everything.
They don't know how much these hands mean to me.
Shit, take my right hand. Who am I kidding? Lying to you, Eros, is lying to myself. I don't give a damn about my hands. I don't. I don't give a damn about any of these body parts. Take them all, Father Time! I don't want them.
My ring finger, though. That is not yours to take. It'll be a bitter fight, Mr. Time, if you try to take that fucking finger from me.
I've tried to reason this one out, Eros. I knew it was coming at some point. The day they'd say, hey Lynn you gotta get rid of those hands. I knew it would happen. All the limbs will go eventually. All the organs will get switched out. All the skin will be regrown. My hair, my face, everything I was born with will be reborn from the donations of someone dead or the happy gifts of science. But none of them will be my own. I CANNOT give up my ring finger though. I don't know what to do about it, but this finger is my truth. Its that bond. I made that bond with a man and I don't intend to break it. Ever. Marriage is a sanctum and I will not defy it. Never. I can't let them cut me off from that tattoo. My faded black feather. I've never gotten it touched up for a reason. Its timeless. But I can't live with a dead finger on my hand. It would wither and crumble to bits. I'm not stupid. I know it has to go. But what the fuck can I do to keep it? Besides die with it?