Death

I had been trying to "publish" one of my posts on Wednesday and my computer locked up. I'd been writing about the "Ends of Eras," how forces in our lives all come together at the same time. We weave meaning from these gelled Life ingredients; the meaning may be created by our own hearts or helped in part by the Universe. I'd just finished reading A.M. Homes' The Safety of Objects (the film had been one of the grains of inspirations for the short story I wrote that eventually became my novel) and finished watching Angel (one of the most spiritual sagas ever created). I ended up losing the entire post--it was a whopper--and in the process of attempting to retrieve it I got a phone call from Our House that D was in Providence Hospital's ICU and that if I wanted to see him before he passed on, now was the time. I hurried from work in tears, everything becoming so surreal. I got home and washed my face and brushed my teeth and tried to make myself look presentable, cute, for D so that my outside didn't match my messy emotional insides. On my way out the door to get in my car, the mailman walked up and handed me that day's stuff--I ripped the one with my handwriting open. A rejection letter from one of the fellowships I'd applied to. I could only shake my head and laugh; it felt so inconsequential and so ridiculous and so strange, too, that I'd be there to receive the mail in person. I rushed to the hospital and everything became a blur. It's the details that stick out. I remember thinking Providence Hospital wasn't nearly as ugly as most other hospitals; the colors of the clothing of D's family stood out starkly to me; I felt calm and numb and depressed and fucked-up all at the same time. I've lost people in my past, but this connection tapped into something so deep inside myself, something primal, something I could relate to. When I was permitted in to see D, I couldn't help but think of him as a fragile bird. He was only in a semi-conscious state; his eyes were open; he was spitting up fluids; he had tubes coming in and out of him from everywhere. I talked to him about Twin Peaks (I wore my Twin Peaks tee-shirt for him), and how I hoped he liked the Charlotte Martin CD, and I told him that it meant the world to me that we'd gotten to hang out the week before. I felt inadequate. I can be so good with people sometimes; I know how to comfort and hug. I'm a good empathizer. But I felt like a tiny neutron in that ICU room. I admired C, the way she stroked D's arm and talked soothingly to him. She seemed comfortable, in her element. She was strikingly beautiful, and elegant. When I told her she was so good with him, she looked at me with a surprised, almost innocent, expression, like: "How could I not be? This is what we DO when someone is passing into the next realm." Once they took some tubes out of him, he started breathing rapidly--he was getting agitated--and C looked up and said, "Someone get his family, I think he's going." She'd meant one of the nurses, but I was by the door and I said I'd go, and I hurried to the waiting room, random thoughts flooding through me. Should I talk calmly and rapidly? Should I say, "Get in there now! Quick!" or should I say, "Hey everybody, now might be a good time to head in and see D. Want to come?" I took Approach #2 the first time. Only a few of his relatives followed; I don't think they understood he was going....I ended up having to go back and saying (a little more firmly, but still semi-calm) "Everybody should come in now." I tried to stress the "now." We all gathered, and held hands, and people were crying, and D was gasping, and since D loved music they had some playing for him. Someone had put in the Charlotte Martin CD, and damnit, it started skipping. I had these sad, horrible thoughts: Why couldn't God just let the music play without that retched skipping that seemed to be filling the whole room? I changed the CD to Kate Bush, one of D's favorites. (His favorite CD is Sarah Brightman's Eden, but he didn't have that one in his carry-case.) So we prayed with the Chaplain, and then....D passed away with just his parents in the room. I didn't even know until fifteen minutes later. Then I went in and said my See you Laters and stroked his hair. We all gathered for a final prayer in the ICU waiting room, and the air was still, and after the Chaplain had finished there was this uncomfortable silence. I mean, what do you say in times like this? There's no right or wrong thing. It's just too fucking sad and strange and awkward. Someone said, "Well, I guess we should head home," and someone else said, "I forgot my purse in D's room. I have to go get it." And I remember, during my time there, so many (guilty) thoughts flooding through me: When could I go home and shower? When could I go and be safe in my pajamas and be safe on the comfort of my own couch? I ended up calling into work yesterday and I spent Wednesday night and all day Thursday honoring D. I played Sarah Brightman and Kate Bush and Charlotte Martin. I wrote and funneled my sadness into my chapter (it started snowing outside right as I was finishing up my section about a snowstorm). I watched Grey's Anatomy--Rosie Thomas's "Let Myself Fall" played during one of the episodes, such a pleasant and lovely surprise. And, wow, when I listened to Kate Bush's song "Cloudbusting" I was shocked and happy to hear the line, "Every Time It Rains" repeated over and over. "Every Time It Rains" is the name of one of my favorite Charlotte Martin songs. And one of Charlotte's greatest inspirations is Kate Bush. Other lovely things: talking to Mom; Tara calling and saying she'd be coming to the party on Saturday; Jeff Bailey calling out of the blue, and we haven't spoken in a couple years! He must have sensed my need to hear his voice. I danced to Charlotte's "Step Back" from her DVD, which is my Song of the Moment. I dreamed about Kate Bush last night, about buying her music. I even honored D in my dreams. Thank you all for listening, and for offering support, and for giving good hugs. I'm blessed to have known D, and I'm blessed to know you all. Please give a big shout-out to the Universe and D will hear you, whether he's just a particle of dust or reborn as a sparrow or hanging out in the ether, drinking some Nirvana-Wine and chatting about Bliss with some Diva Deity. Love you all. Thank U for being U.