Saturday, November 19, 2005

Hanging By a Moment

David's home. At last. He's under hospice care. He has oxygen and a morphine

My dear one and I visited David while he was in the hospital. He looked terrible; eyes bloodshot, his back crisscrossed with red welts and deep black circles beneath both eyes, David was a mere shadow of his former self. We tried to act as though nothing was wrong, but it was hard. Just looking at him, I wanted to cry.

And now he's home. Mollie thinks he has a couple of good days left. He may not even see Thanksgiving.

He's already planned the funeral. Twenty-five and he's planned his own funeral. His daughters and step-sons will be taken care of; they'll receive checks from the government. Cold comfort, or rather, no comfort, for David will never see these children grow up, graduate school, go to college, nothing.

The first snow of the year fell not two days ago. It is winter now. At least, it is in my eyes. Winter, when all is cold and gone. Winter, when the birds have fled the colder climes. Winter, when the leaves and grass die. Winter, the season of slumber. From the Goddess we come forth and to Her we shall return...


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