Hallelujah, By and By

Written Sunday, December 17, 2006 

Will Mecom died today, around 2:30 PM.

He had been sent home from St. John's hospital last week with a hospice nurse, and three of his friends he's known since Berkeley in the '60's flew in to stay with him and see out his last days. They were all due to fly back tomorrow to get back to their jobs and families and Will, being the good friend he was, decided to politely pass into eternity before they left so they wouldn't feel guilty.

I had been to see him this past Wednesday night at his place. He was nearly unresponsive by then from the pain and the morphine, but he had a houseful of people laughing and telling stories about him. The hearing is the last sense to go, so we all talked to him and I played some old gospel songs. Jane said she saw his lips moving as I sang, and that he squeezed her hand. As we were hugging him goodbye he mouthed softly to Jane, "Love you."

A Song for the Dying

Written Tuesday, December 05, 2006  I recently left a situation that was causing me tremendous pain, and yet I still feel rotten. Why is that? Why do we still feel pain, even when a separation is for the best? When I left my ex-husband I cried for a month, and I was overjoyed to be rid of the bastard. Maybe it's just Tears of Change - a reaction to having spiritual duct tape ripped off after it's been there way too long. So I've been feeling terrible, adrift, deflated - talking to God and saying things like, "I know there's supposed to be a lesson in every painful episode but as far as I can see, the only two things I learned from this whole situation is that nobody gives a crap about my feelings, and most people are assholes."