Poems written for ME -- Part I, most recent

Her Death from my 40s
written March 25, 2008

In my twenties, I fell for a cartoon version of death drawn by Gaiman;
ankh around her thin pale neck, like a contemporary Egyptian queen,
and really cool solid black hair crossing her thickly lined eyes.
So I put sterling ankhs in my own ears, let my bangs grow
over my pupils, and swallowed a bottle full of assorted poisons to meet her.

But my body refused.

Now I sit with my 87 year old kindred woman and study
the real thing appearing before me. While different,
she has the same charisma as her hip sister: dusty
white hair, thin as a silk thread curtains, falls effortlessly
into this woman’s startling blue eyes.

I have had years to prepare for this visit, yet
mind’s clarity sinks into the cloudy ocean of dementia,
I remember both what I loved and regretted:
the loss and relief
the clenching and letting go.

Life's a trip

I have much to say, but it must wait for a few finishing touches. Decisions are being made and a few hands of fate are stepping in on some stuff.

But, because the best person I have ever known is dying, I am silent for the next few days. My last post is now obsolete. I just wanted to say I am still here, just waiting on names, dates, and times.

More soon. I promise.

I raise my cyber-glass to ME as she finishes what she did so well. Here here.

Asheville Update

Went to Asheville yesterday and had a precious 24 hours with M & ME. ME is deteriorating, but she had lucid moments several times while I was there. I was able to meet their Hospice social worker and nurse, both of which assured me (and her) that everything that can be done to ease her end of life is being done.

When she was not lucid, she was like a sweet, charming child struggling to find the words to say what she was feeling. I never saw even a hint of anger or meanness. I thought of Ani's song "Back, Back, Back" and the lines:

Who are these old old people
In these nursing homes
Scowling away at nothing
Like big rag dolls just cursing at the walls
And pulling out all of their stuffing
Every day is a door leading back to the core
Yes, old age will distill you
And if you’re this this this full of bitterness now
Some day it will just fill you

Considering the life she has survived, it is amazing: ME has no bitterness at all. M and I were able to discuss the continuing generosity of her spirit, even as her body and mind fail. It was quite moving, and it made me really think about myself and how I've chosen to live.

The best moment of our visit was a clear moment in which I asked ME if C and I can use her "middle" name, E, for our daughter. She wiped away tears with her wonderfully old, yet childlike, hands. She said, "It would be an honor." But, I'm quite sure, all of the honors have been mine.

Jon on Obama

The Daily Show broke this into two pieces, watch them both ... great stuff.

What he said

I second it.

sick puppy

My puppy is sick. This morning he crawled under the bed, whined, and vomited. The worst thing about having a sick dog is that he can't tell me how he feels. I keep asking him, what hurts? But he just looks up at me with those big brown eyes.


It makes me feel helpless.


Note: I think he is OK -- just a little upset tummy.

cruel world

In high school I loved what we would now call emo music. All this really sappy music about how cruel and harsh the world is...about how my pretty little heart was broken by every punch the world dished out. I loved Tears for Fears, Depeche Mode, and The Cure.

The funny thing is, at that age, I had no idea how much pain there really is in the world. Even more irony? Now that I know, I'm not so much into the emo stuff. I tend toward sad music, yes, but I'm more interested in listening to people who see the crap around them and rage against it: however futile.

This is brought up today because it is March: it is sunny and beautiful outside and the academic world suddenly notices: wow, sunshine. What the means to the layman is that my calendar is now JAMMED full of stuff because EVERYONE wants to DO something.

So, I'm already exhausted and I'm looking at two full weeks of events EVERY night. Great events, yes. But a person is only one person, you know. I guess there could be MANY worse things to complain about: starvation, war, dictatorships. Those exist too.

That is how the world is cruel.

something really funny

http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.wordpress.com/