Sunday, May 25, 2008
So here's the weird thing...Tom is still alive, very much so, well, less so than he has been in the past 60+ years, but alive nevertheless, but he has a fatal brain disease.
I fucking hate that word.
Now, realistically, I know we all are destined to die. Yes, even you and me. Someday.
But somehow, I have always associated death with old people, like my grandparents. My grandfather died when he was 60, and both my mom's parents died in their 60's. But I was much younger than I am now. The difference between my age and theirs when they died was 45-60 years...so in my mind, by today's standards, people are not due to die until they are 95-120 years old.
I know I need to go see him, to talk to him, to hold his hand and tell him how much the last 15 years of my life have been so enhanced since I have had him in my life.
I don't want to see him like this. It's not that I'm afraid. I've seen many people closing in on their final days. I know I know what to do, and how to act. Usually.
I just don't think I can go to HIS house and be strong and supportive this time. Oh, I'm good at writing on his blog. I've written a few times...I leave amusing anecdotes, meaningful comments, you know, stuff that would make him feel good.
I think about all the things that remind me of him. I still hear him playing tennis across the street mid-afternoon, laughing when he misses a shot. (He doesn't have to laugh very much.) Memorial Day Weekend. Labor Day Weekend. Folk Music. Rabbits, Rabbits, Rabbits. Letting Gwen's Cancer out of the bag. Great conversations about religion, family, children, life's passions.
It's killing part of me too.
I just imagine walking into the house, seeing him sitting, curled up in a chair, surrounded by his family and friends, and me breaking into hysterics and needing a xanax to calm down.
Tom is an amazing man, and he will ALWAYS be an amazing spirit. I wish I had his strength.