Tag: grief

I have missed K. O. the past several days on his show, but I understand with which he has to deal.  The standins are OK, (I would like to see more females in the slot), but they are not K. O..  He is back tonight, with a vengeance, and that is a good thing.

He is likely the most expressive and passionate advocate for our cause that is not on shortwave radio.  I am glad that he was able to come onto MSNBC tonight.

What is it with the attorneys?  It was supposed to happen a few weeks ago, but the papers were not in order.

I tried to send them, but the attorney never sent the blank ones for me to sign, and have notarized, until I reminded him.

10:00 Eastern time is the end.  I likely will not be here any more.

Warmest regards,

Doc

Well, I found out tonight that the papers that I signed and had notarized last week made their way back to the soon to be the former Mrs. Translator’s attorney.  Everything seems to be in order, and unless the judge finds something wrong, it will be final next Wednesday.

Thus ends 32 years of marriage, and 34 years of infatuation.  But it was always more than infatuation.  Certainly there was a definite bit of sexual attraction at first, because she was (and is) so very beautiful, but there was always more.

Is there a soul to a house?

If we call it just a house and not a home, does it still possess a soul separate from the vagaries of mortgages, layers of paint, or crayon, or grease on the walls, busted pipes in the winter, the seepage stains that are like Mercatur projections of alien continents on whitewashed mortared walls?

Does the heart of a house exist outside any memory of the tangible moments that mark the living within? Or does the spirit of a house, soul-centered in an aging body of wood and brick and nail, pulse simply because there are lives, loves and deaths that pass through?  Perhaps an invisible, silent, tender skin of cares, of worries, of hopes, coats every moment exchanged. Coats the hallways, the rooms, the stairs, the steps leading away. In this old house on Earl Avenue.

This was not unexpected. She and I have gotten to the age our circle of friends has started to diminish. It occurred to us the day Johnny Carson died, if your cultural icons weren’t immortal, we probably weren’t either.

About 3 weeks ago Linda’s heart simply stopped. She was rushed to the hospital and  altho it took three times to get her completely stabilized, they did. Her heart was working at 10% and they didn’t think she was going to make it, but she fooled them and rallied. Two weeks ago there was talk of moving her to a nursing home and starting limited rehab, we were hopeful. She had fooled everyone before by beating Lung Cancer a few years ago. A week ago her condition deteriorated and the decision was made to stop her dialysis and move her to hospice care. She had been on dialysis twice a week for three years, it was clear there would be no more rallies, no more hope. I was angry at first, certainly they knew stopping  the dialysis would kill her. But like so many treatments there comes a time when the physical cost of doing them doesn’t enhance the quality of life that is left.

Below the fold I will share a taste of our 50 year friendship.

The time you won your town the race

We chaired you through the market-place;

Man and boy stood cheering by,

And home we brought you shoulder-high.

To-day, the road all runners come,

Shoulder-high we bring you home,

And set you at your threshold down,

Townsman of a stiller town.

Smart lad, to slip betimes away

From fields were glory does not stay

And early though the laurel grows

It withers quicker than the rose.

Eyes the shady night has shut

Cannot see the record cut,

And silence sounds no worse than cheers

After earth has stopped the ears:

Now you will not swell the rout

Of lads that wore their honours out,

Runners whom renown outran

And the name died before the man.

So set, before its echoes fade,

The fleet foot on the sill of shade,

And hold to the low lintel up

The still-defended challenge-cup.

And round that early-laurelled head

Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,

And find unwithered on its curls

The garland briefer than a girl’s.

~ A.E. Houseman, “To an Athlete Dying Young”

If I had money enough to spend

And leisure to sit awhile

There is a fair maid in the town

That sorely has my heart beguiled

Her rosy cheeks and ruby lips

I own she has my heart enthralled

So fill to me the parting glass

Good night and joy be with you all

Oh, all the comrades that e’er I had

They’re sorry for my going away

And all the sweethearts that e’er I had

They’d wish me one more day to stay

But since it falls unto my lot

That I should rise and you should not

I’ll gently rise and softly call

Good night and joy be with you all

~The Pogues, “The Parting Glass”

All soldiers wish for two things: Another day and the chance to come home.

Sgt. Peter Neesley had a third wish: He wanted to bring the stray dogs — Mama and Boris — he had befriended in Iraq home with him.

Sgt. Peter Neesley did not get either of his first two wishes.  On Christmas Day, from causes still unexplained, he died.

Today, though, thanks to Best Friends Animal Society, his last wish came true.  

What is this thing that builds our dreams yet slips away from us Who wants to live forever   Who wants to live forever?

I watched as you passed by and thought I felt your breath for just a moment on my face, a gentle faerie vapor in the still air of the night. I brushed your hand in my dreams with my hand, an ethereal transfer of warmth from my flesh to spirit to your incorporeal flesh. That moment of space between life and death was filled, again, too briefly with transient comfort of your presence.  

But touch my tears with your lips

Touch my world with your fingertips

And we can have forever

And we can love forever

(also published in modified format at Dailykos)