Saturday, September 17, 2005

Saturday, September 17, 2005

Saturday, September 17, 2005

I was running this morning, down through the little canyon that runs along the back of the property, and it poured me out at the base of Schoolhouse Hill and the valley opened up into sun tattered mist, and a robins egg sky shot through with amber. I jogged half way up the hill and then turned around and watched the day begin. It was like a promise.

Tim and Sue drove down to Cour D’Alene yesterday, and let the surgeon know that Tim wasn’t going to have surgery. That puts on the fast track like I said, but formalizing this decision was like handing over the ticket.

I was home all day, I finished cutting the boards for the spare bedroom, and hauled them over and stacked them outside the door. My cousin Pat got here from Salt Lake and he started nailing them up. When Jim got here he went to work on the window frame and trim.

The phone would not stop ringing yesterday. I talked to Matt Drake, and he decided to fly out from Albany. I talked to the hospice people and set up an appointment for Monday. I talked to Pat, my brother for about an hour.

He was in Long Beach, half way through a trip, and wanting to be here, and hating his job and the fact that he can’t be here until Monday.

Carol came by to clean the house.

“It’s really happening,” she said and started crying while washing the window in the door. I hugged her and she cried some more, and I told her how grateful I was that Tim had so many people in his life who cared this much.

A couple of logger friends of Tim’s stopped by and left in tears.

Tim came home and he had a new collar that I had to grudgingly admit was an improvement over my duct tape and bath towel model. The great part is that it lets him stay on his feet for longer periods of time. He and I drove up to the mill to get a nice piece of cedar for the window frame.

We worked until after dark. We would stop every now and then to talk, but nobody got crazy emotional.

“Okay cupcakes, do you think you can stop chatting long enough to cut me a 134 and 5/8?” Pat would say as he walked into the shop.

So I cut, and sanded, and nailed, and talked and listened, and laughed. And then the day was over.

The phone never stops ringing. Its amazing as we move into this stage how many people want to be here. Yesterday PL, Matt Drake, and Don Trosset were added on. The day before Bob and Cheryl Neidig called and said they were flying out. Just about everyone wants to make the camping trip on 4032 on Tuesday. I guess its okay, I don’t know. The nature of this family has always been to constantly expand to include anyone who wanted in. But in saying yes to everyone are we are overloading it? I can’t answer that question, and its not mine to answer anyway.

I talked to a friend of mine in LA yesterday, and he reminded me that when this is over, all I want to be able to say is that I was the most loving brother I could be. That the rest of this, the personalities, the sleeping arrangements, the meals, the logistics, don’t matter in the face of simply showing up, being present, and being of service to Tim and Suzanne.

The busy work though, it’s a powerful draw. It takes me away from the reality. But I don’t want that. The beauty is in the details of the day, in the touch of hands as I pass him his pills, in the sound of his voice. The important thing is the hug I can give Suzanne whether she is breaking down or not. What matters is yelling “Good night cocksuckers” as I leave their house.

The rest of it will take care of itself. Its not my business anyway.

More later…


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