Tuesday, September 22, 2015

Alex, "What is a bad report?"

I call her Darth Vader because of the oxygen mask. She smiles, and we finally have the talk. This I have not been looking forward to.

"Have they told you?"

"Told me what?"

And then I don't know if my brain begins to scramble her words or she just doesn't know how to say what it is. But it's something about six hundred pounds and the doctors last week and she wants tears but I refuse to feel them.

"Did you say six hundred pounds?"

Death steals our ability to communicate. Duh. She verifies this, but I still don't understand why so I say, "You mean the doctor said you weigh fifty-one pounds."

Blue eyes, bluer than they've ever been. "I think I'm tired. I'm ready to give up."






Before this talk we had a couple when she would ask if I knew and I would try to play as dumb as possible and I would always says, "You won't make it with that attitude."

(dear her idiot niece, she should have said, "get out of my room, you idiot." I can call myself one, and she could do so as well but she doesn't because I guess love)







Anyway.
Not a kind of love which will save anyone but one with kindness and compassion. The same I want to give to her.







So I have prepared for this in a way, in the form of a Mom and me talk.
The whole give up, let go thing.
That you in the next however many days, weeks, months, years are not going to be able to cure this. You can't bring this person back and you saw it coming because yes, in all the scientific studies of the world (the ones much better than your's) smoking causes cancer and to ignore that would make an idiot of you.


(oh yeah.)




Anyway.
I say, "I don't know if you'll remember me. They say light and peace and no more pain. You know, people that have come back from death so if you remember me can you remember to give him a hug. I know you're gonna want to hug him first because what is that going to feel like."


Blue, blue eyes.


"Your sister. Sue. You get to see her."

"And Todd. How old will he be?"

"I don't know."

"How old are you?"

"Forty-five."

"He'd be around that."




Then I begin to imagine, to see something more than this because reality is sometimes tragic to watch or live and she ate good. That's my report.




Today I am grateful for her smile, that I was able to do some of her bidding, that suffering is temporary.





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