Not so much a blog but a chronicle of a moment in my life that can neither be deleted nor added to.
Start at the beginning and read them in this order.
First
Second
Third
Fourth
Fifth
Sixth
Seventh
Eighth
Ninth
Tenth
Eleventh
Twelfth
Thirteenth
And then Steven died
And There was Nothing
If you've read all this you'll see there are no heroes, no evil, no good resolutions and no ending.
There is one dead man, one grieving mother, one abandoned parter and a collection of friends who come together and drift apart like ripples in the water.
This weekend I spoke to some of them and it left me empty.
I'm going to keep running but it's not really for Steven at this point. It's out of terror for anyone who will be living this.
Right now someone is.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
5 comments:
Between your running and this blog, you're making it real for that many more people.
The story isn't pretty, and people need to know.
Wow. Just finished reading it all. I'm so sorry you all dealt with such pain for someone you loved so much.
I think this dialoge is so important - you account of his last days were beautiful, touching - proof of your wish for his peace, finally.
If you've read all this you'll see there are no heroes, no evil, no good resolutions and no ending.
Nope...there's just life.
In all its horror.
And beauty.
I know I'm a bit late with this, but I'm very sorry for your loss and you will be in my prayers; also, my sincere thanks for sharing the story. With getting all wrapped around the axle with petty problems and minor issues, I need to be reminded from time to time just how many things I have to be thankful for.
I'm glad my wife is in Maine, she would be very curious as to why I'm typing on the computer and crying at the same time.
Thank you for leaving this up for others to read. I linked over from Joe.My.God at your comment.
I watched my brother die from AIDS ten years ago. He hid his status from us until he was diagnosed with lymphoma. Two months later he was in hospice care, pretending he was coming home soon. He suffered dementia, panicking over "insects" crawling over his body. He didn't know who I was some days.
In one of his lucid moments, I was able to tell him that we (his family of origin) loved him and didn't care who he loved. He changed visibly from a tense, unhappy man to one who was smiling, open, and free. What a gift to know this man, if only for a couple of months.
He went from being a trim, athletic man to one who looked exactly like a concentration camp victim. It was a mercy when he finally died. He was 48.
No one deserves a death from this cruel disease, no one. I pray that your story finds its way to all who need to know: be safe. Be careful. And live a long life.
Thoughtful blog, thanks for posting.
Post a Comment