February brought the last snow
of the season. Each flake fell
like a scab of dry skin.
We ran outside holding hands –
turning our faces to the sky.
We didn’t speak, and I found I trusted
our silence more than the doctors
diagnosis. Hours were spent staring
at the one sheet prognosis carefully
taped to the refrigerator.
We were hoping for a translation
from death to English. A word
we could wrap around a cure.
Hello,
I’m Marianne
Welcome to my ALS story. The corner of the internet devoted to the good, the bad, and the ugly of living with ALS. Here, I invite you to join me on a journey of love, hope, and sadness as I navigate this final phase of my life,
Marianne Has ALS 
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