something bright

Nothing makes a person feel more helpless than sitting at the bedside. Alan's grandfather was in the brand spanking new nursing home just down the street. It looks like a big resort hotel, but with nurses and wheelchairs and empty hallways. Originally he had a roommate, an older black man who wailed and screamed constantly in pain. But as the night went on, they moved Grandpa Nowak to a private room to have some peace.

It was brutal, watching him struggle to suck in air. They found him yesterday a bit after noon, unresponsive and struggling to breathe. It was probably another stroke. He kept on til about five this morning. There was always someone, usually more than one someone at the side of the bed. Even if we don't know it, no one in this family dies alone. He went peacefully at least, and they made sure that he felt no pain up to the end.

I'm trying really hard to keep the tears in check. Alan needs me, and his parents need us. There are so many things to do, so many people to call. I helped Joan pick out the tie for his suit, and I think I'll just be busy doing little things all day long to keep from stopping to think. Time enough for that later, when we get home.

I don't think I own a single black dress anymore. I need to get Alan's suit to the drycleaners and find something to wear. I need to keep moving.

This hurts.

movement of leaves

When we're busy, it's alright. It's when we stop moving that everyone starts wandering in circles and breaking up.

This morning Alan and I went out for some strong coffee, to a place he frequented a lot back in the day. When I stepped inside I thought I had died and gone to coffee shop heaven. Who would have thought the most perfect little place in the world was hidden in Bryan Texas? It's called Sweet Eugene's House of Java, and it is exactly the kind of coffee shop I've always wanted. they have a chalk board full of house specialties, fresh baked goods, a patio shaded by a big old tree, comfy chairs, clubby leather armchairs and couches, a room lined with bookshelves crammed with reading material of all kinds, and just that feeling that everything is exactly alright. I'm in love. I'll never meet another coffee place I like half so much. I had a white chocolate raspberry truffle espresso and a cranberry scone. It was the biggest and best cup of coffee I've ever had, and only $4.

This afternoon has been taken up with funeral arrangements. I never ever ever fucking want to be in a funeral home again. Ten grand to put you in a beautiful wood box and wrap you in steel and put you in the ground. What a waste of beautiful wood. I made Alan promise me over and over that he would never put me in a box like that. I understand the purpose of funerals, and especially in this situation where August Nowak was a pillar of the community and so well known that you pretty much have to have one. But the whole thing makes me want to retch. They have warranties on those caskets! One of the ghouls, ahem funeral directors, said I would be surprised by what I might need that warranty for and I shuddered at her expression.

Of all the funerals I've attended in my life, not once has there ever been a casket and most certainly not an actual corpse. I'm dreading that moment more than you can imagine.

Just in case we're not clear, I don't want anything like this. Shoot anyone who tries to put me in a coffin. I'm going to be a diamond instead, or ashes sent out into space. But gods above don't bury me in one of those shiny scary boxes.

The preacher will be here in a little bit, and the family is starting to gather. Later we're going to drive home, to get clothes and feed the cat. I called out of work for the both of us, as we get three days of bereavement leave from the company with pay and we might as well use them. No renfaire this weekend for us. just a lot of coffee and food that no one really thinks to eat but gets brought anyways.

I keep starting to cry, but I stop and I don't know what to say.