Sitting next to Dad, while he was hooked up to the IV lines, receiving chemo for hours on end, sitting in the chair next to him, while he laid there, weak…dying…the cancer slowly eating away at his strength, I aimlessly did schoolwork, and I distinctly remember listening to “Little Black Backpack” over and over. A guy friend had introduced it to me among other songs…and so…that’s what was on my playlist…nothing spectacular; nothing that even really “spoke” to me about my situation…more than a line or two…but there it was, on my cd, and so I listened to it, rather aimlessly, listlessly…and yet, in that seemingly random decision, I burned a soundtrack of my father’s cancer journey in my memory.
I just heard the song.
And immediately was back in that chemo room, with all the sterile, horrifying smells – smells only found in a hospital – of death and the foreboding sense of gravity found in the cancer ward.
I know it
It’s a shame
A shame I can’t show it
And I see it
I can see it now
But I’m so far below it
Don’t wannaDon’t wanna talk about it
I say why not?
Don’t wanna think about it
I say there’s got to be some good reason
For your little black backpack
Up, smack, turnaround he’s on his back
And
Don’t wanna tango with you
I’d rather tangle with him
I think I’m gonna bash his head in
And this shouldn’t concern you except that
Just don’t expect to get your bloody black backpack backI feel you
Yes I can
What about that don’t you understand?
I sense you
It’s something sensual
But it’s less than I planned
Don’t wannaYou’re trying to find a reason for the way you feel tonight
Your mind is lined with layers of lead
Have you heard one thing that I’ve said?
-Stroke 9
