From Isolation, With Love:

A love letter to the outside from a bone marrow transplant patient

When I look at you outside my window I can see the rest of my life, yet I cannot touch you. I can see you for the first time. So close that I could just brush my fingers against you, yet millions of years away, and I think about the agony that Adam must feel; forever imprinted on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel — looking straight into the face of God, but never able to touch. All of life so close, but so far from my own reality. People tell me often that it gets better, and I understand that it does, but I can’t help but ache when I wake up in the morning and you are out and about without me.

@Liamdavidbruce (Instagram)

There are parts of you I can experience in small ways — walks in the park and visits to the hospital. When I watch you pass by my window in the car, there’s a part of me that feels blessed just to be there that makes the ache in my chest a little bit easier to bare. I look at pictures of you a lot; all the places I wish I could go or be. I think about all of the little spots that I love on you that make my heart sing, like little coffee shops on Sunday mornings or the way the light hits the benches on my University campus in the afternoons in October. All the little things I’ve been blessed to see that I have fallen in love with; right out of my reach. My doctors have told me that you will be back to me in no time. I do believe them. I know that they are right, but I miss you with all of myself all the same.

For the first time, when I come back to you, I’ll be cured of a disease that doctors previously told me was uncurable. I get to come back brand new, just like I promised, and hopefully, that changes our relationship. I am, of course, still myself. But I’d like to think that this adjustment might change things for us a little bit. That maybe it’s my turn to love you to the best of my ability; the way that you should have been loved in the first place.

I do understand that you are in the middle of quite the crisis right now. You are, quite literally, on fire in some places and ideologically all over the map. You’re being terrorized by a little orange man. You’re having some mental health issues. You’re on drugs. There’s a possibility that you might be broke very soon. I do try my best to keep up with that. Yet, you have always been this way and there will always be a crisis. I accept that about our relationship. There are times in life when we must simply love through difficult situations and I have quickly found that this is one of them. That for all of your faults, you are incredibly worth loving. There is so much to love, so much of you to experience and explore, even though people might tell you differently sometimes. I promise to appreciate you while I can because you deserve to be, someday when we get to be together again. But for now, I must be satisfied with what I have of you — knowing that someday you’ll be mine again. That must be enough.

From Isolation with Love,


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Non-Fiction Books. Health Care. Politics. Inquires:,

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