Sunday, February 22, 2009
a hazard avoided (for now)
Well, my dear reader, I must confess. . .
And yes, to some degree I do feel like I have been cheating on you.
I have spent my online time away from the familiar comforts of this forum and in the virtual arms of another.
Facebook.
Forgive me.
Okay? Forgiven? Okay.
Good. Now let's move on.
The immediacy is frightening, the potential and the temptation for drunk dialing is ever the greater.
'Cuz really now, don't you just wanna send her a message and ask her why she really dumped ya when you were 16?
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And yes, to some degree I do feel like I have been cheating on you.
I have spent my online time away from the familiar comforts of this forum and in the virtual arms of another.
Facebook.
Forgive me.
Okay? Forgiven? Okay.
Good. Now let's move on.
"I have this disease late at night sometimes, involving alcohol and the telephone, I ask the telephone operators to connect me with this friend or that one, from whom I have not heard in years."Facebook has removed the telephone operator. The connection is only a click away.
- Kirk Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-five
The immediacy is frightening, the potential and the temptation for drunk dialing is ever the greater.
'Cuz really now, don't you just wanna send her a message and ask her why she really dumped ya when you were 16?
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Monday, February 09, 2009
update
Sunday, February 08, 2009
deathwatch
I am typing these words partially as simply a way to pass the time waiting for someone that I love dearly to pass away.
Lest you be alarmed dear reader, let me reassure you now. It is not The Boy.
Yes, my last significant posting was about The Boy, and his tonsil/adenoid-ectomy. And while it contained the usual and expected amount of the every year and a half or so "The Boy in The Hospital" drama and anxiety, there was never a major level of alarm or fear for his safety and eventual well-being.
I am quite pleased to report that three weeks after his surgery The Boy is better than new.
Really, he is. (I said with a grin.)
And it is with somewhat of a sad sense of irony that the current drama I find myself embroiled in began the week The Boy had his tonsils out.
Yep, that very week. I learned of it that Tuesday, that very afternoon.
All just further evidence in my mind that God is either non-existent or one really sorry-assed sick twisted fucker.
That was the week the inevitable downward spiral we all face accelerated to warp fucking speed for someone that I hold quite dear.
It is another for whom my heart is currently breaking.
Caleb.
He's sixteen. I know this because I was at that party. He sat in his mother's lap and drove her Miata with the top down around the block, while Journey or Kansas or some such classic rock shit blasted through the stereo as they hit the gas and careened away.
He's a student. He has been a student of mine for about the past two and a half years. He has been a friend and a part of my life for about the past eight or so years.
And now he's dying.
Literally and truly he is. He is down to about twenty pounds. No significant amount of food or water for around a week now. And no amount will save him. Lest you become too alarmed at the news that he is sixteen and weighs a scant twenty pounds, I must tell you, that at his largest most healthiest and fittest he weighed a whopping forty-six pounds.
Never been a big guy.
His descent into the downward spiral started gaining steam last summer. He had a typical teenage growth spurt. Because of his scoliosis and kyphosis his growth spurt caused him to grow pretty much like a corkscrew.
Really.
And that can't be good.
Sure enough, it is not, and it has been, I feel, the main reason as to why we find ourselves where we do today, my dear reader.
Basically, his little body has collapsed in upon itself to the point where his internal organs are cramped and compromised. His bowels have shut down, twisted and compressed. His little lungs cannot properly expand to breathe. This has left him vulnerable to the antibiotic resistant pneumonia that is currently drowning him slowly.
And those are just a few of his problems.
He is also quite cognitive, and aware of his situation as you and I are right now. He is ready and accepting of his eminent and impending fate. He is tired of the pain of being trapped in an always profoundly broken and now rapidly failing Judas body.
He is beyond all hope of salvation at the hands of man.
Poor kid.
I know, heckuva way to go, eh?
But he's going at home, hospice is what they call it. You know, from the Greek for "sucks giant ass". He is surrounded by his family. All his friends are coming by in some sort of grand parade down the flowered streets of memory lane. He is loopy from love and morphine as he's gasping his last breaths.
He is Absolute King of a Finite World.
We can only hope to be so lucky someday.
Right?
It is no longer a matter of if, but when?
And that question torments me, leaving me in a daytime drunken stupor and sleepless through the darkness of the night.
Why?
When?
What lessons do you still have left to teach?
I saw you earlier today. That spark has left your eyes. We both know what that means. You have my blessing and I have told you so. See you on the other side, my brother.
What are you waiting for? For the sake and sanity of your withering mother who has lived in this twilight for three fucking weeks, I beg of you to say good-bye and let it slide.
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Lest you be alarmed dear reader, let me reassure you now. It is not The Boy.
Yes, my last significant posting was about The Boy, and his tonsil/adenoid-ectomy. And while it contained the usual and expected amount of the every year and a half or so "The Boy in The Hospital" drama and anxiety, there was never a major level of alarm or fear for his safety and eventual well-being.
I am quite pleased to report that three weeks after his surgery The Boy is better than new.
Really, he is. (I said with a grin.)
And it is with somewhat of a sad sense of irony that the current drama I find myself embroiled in began the week The Boy had his tonsils out.
Yep, that very week. I learned of it that Tuesday, that very afternoon.
All just further evidence in my mind that God is either non-existent or one really sorry-assed sick twisted fucker.
That was the week the inevitable downward spiral we all face accelerated to warp fucking speed for someone that I hold quite dear.
It is another for whom my heart is currently breaking.
Caleb.
He's sixteen. I know this because I was at that party. He sat in his mother's lap and drove her Miata with the top down around the block, while Journey or Kansas or some such classic rock shit blasted through the stereo as they hit the gas and careened away.
He's a student. He has been a student of mine for about the past two and a half years. He has been a friend and a part of my life for about the past eight or so years.
And now he's dying.
Literally and truly he is. He is down to about twenty pounds. No significant amount of food or water for around a week now. And no amount will save him. Lest you become too alarmed at the news that he is sixteen and weighs a scant twenty pounds, I must tell you, that at his largest most healthiest and fittest he weighed a whopping forty-six pounds.
Never been a big guy.
His descent into the downward spiral started gaining steam last summer. He had a typical teenage growth spurt. Because of his scoliosis and kyphosis his growth spurt caused him to grow pretty much like a corkscrew.
Really.
And that can't be good.
Sure enough, it is not, and it has been, I feel, the main reason as to why we find ourselves where we do today, my dear reader.
Basically, his little body has collapsed in upon itself to the point where his internal organs are cramped and compromised. His bowels have shut down, twisted and compressed. His little lungs cannot properly expand to breathe. This has left him vulnerable to the antibiotic resistant pneumonia that is currently drowning him slowly.
And those are just a few of his problems.
He is also quite cognitive, and aware of his situation as you and I are right now. He is ready and accepting of his eminent and impending fate. He is tired of the pain of being trapped in an always profoundly broken and now rapidly failing Judas body.
He is beyond all hope of salvation at the hands of man.
Poor kid.
I know, heckuva way to go, eh?
But he's going at home, hospice is what they call it. You know, from the Greek for "sucks giant ass". He is surrounded by his family. All his friends are coming by in some sort of grand parade down the flowered streets of memory lane. He is loopy from love and morphine as he's gasping his last breaths.
He is Absolute King of a Finite World.
We can only hope to be so lucky someday.
Right?
It is no longer a matter of if, but when?
And that question torments me, leaving me in a daytime drunken stupor and sleepless through the darkness of the night.
Why?
When?
What lessons do you still have left to teach?
I saw you earlier today. That spark has left your eyes. We both know what that means. You have my blessing and I have told you so. See you on the other side, my brother.
What are you waiting for? For the sake and sanity of your withering mother who has lived in this twilight for three fucking weeks, I beg of you to say good-bye and let it slide.
__________
life you had
. . . for Caleb (and Melissa)
I would bear your burden
I would help to ease your load
But I don’t fit inside your shoes
And I can’t find the road
Yes I would take your torment
Like your morphine eases pain
But I’m not behind your baby blues
So I guess I can’t complain
You know you need not worry
‘cuz I’m telling ya it’s really not that bad
Don’t mourn the life your leavin’
Celebrate the life you had
I would ease your burden
I would help you bear your cross
But I can’t feel the way you do
I can only feel the loss
Yes, I would take your torment
Like your morphine grants relief
But I’m not behind your baby blues
So you can’t know my grief
You know I will not worry
Tho’ I’m tellin’ ya, that feeling’s really sad
I celebrate the life your leavin’
As I mourn the life you had
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