Thursday, September 29, 2005

Thursday, September 29, 2005

Thursday, September 29, 2005

Life here is so simple and slow and beautiful. PL and I were in the laundry room late yesterday afternoon, Tim had just woken up from a four hour nap. I was cooking dinner and she was doing laundry, and I turned the corner and saw her, and we just stopped and smiled at each other.

“I love the way things happen here right now,” I said. “There is just this simple harmony.”

“It makes me want to change my life,” she replied.

And I know what she means. Yes, this is a remarkable time, but we are learning so much about the simple art of being human. Of being kind. Of being loving. Of being strong.

The clouds rolled in late yesterday, and it looks like we may get a little more rain. For Pat’s sake I hope it holds off until he finishes the siding. I’ll have to ask how I can help when I get out there.

Tim was full of life yesterday morning. He had gone for a walk outside to see the stars at about 2:00am, and then taken a leak in the woods. He was up most of the night talking, and Mary, Suzanne and Leon were up most of the night with him.

He made many trips around the house inside and out, inspecting the work, offering suggestions. He wants a lot of hugs these days. And a lot of touching. He is happy to see everyone who comes within his sight range. And he needs to hug them. Its great to be around.

His speech is hard to understand, because his jaw is more frozen and the collar doesn’t allow for much mobility, but we understand him pretty well most of the time so he doesn’t have to get frustrated.

He doesn’t always close his eyes when he sleeps, so we have to close them for him so they don’t dry out. But when he’s falling asleep you can’t always tell if he’s still awake or drifting, so it’s a weird one. You push his eye shut and it pops back open and you push it shut and it pops back open. He isn’t talking or moving, but the eye is so after a bit you give up and wait, and then try it again later.

He likes to fuck with people. He gets all frail and sad and pitiful looking, so someone comes to hug them and he gets them in a death grip. Or if it’s a woman, he grabs their ass. The other day he said to Margaret when Jimmy Neumayer called, “Hey, want to see if I can make him cry?” and then he gets on the phone and says “Jimmy! I’m dyin!”

It was such a quiet afternoon. People were napping, I was cooking, Pat and Tom were upstairs working on the house.

Margaret sat with him most of yesterday afternoon. Before he fell asleep, they did cross word puzzles, and then for hours after, as he slept, I would look over and see her dark head close to his bald one, still working out the puzzles.

Mom came by and talked to Tim as he slept about the first time he came to North Idaho, in the spring of 1966, and how he jumped out of the Volkswagen bus and into the mud in the barnyard, and looked back at her. And she said, “Go on. It’s yours. Go explore.” And he was off.

He woke up at about 6:00. He said he woke up and looked out and saw the pile of boards, and heard voices and saws, and it was all too much for him. He knew how much he would miss all this, and he started to cry.

Suzanne held him and talked to him, and I got his pain medication ready. He called Pat in and hugged him close for a long long time, and cried and told him how much he loved him and how proud he was of him and how grateful he was for all the work he was doing. He did the same with Tom, and then when I came back he did the same with me.

He told us all how much he was going to miss us, and we told him how much we were going to miss him, and how much we loved him, and how proud we were of him, and how grateful we were that he was going to go on ahead and find the cool places, and all the cool music, and put a word in with the right people on our behalf.

He said he had been such an asshole to us, and we laughed and I said, “Tim I almost killed you with your own truck, it doesn’t get any worse than that.” And he laughed and Pat said it was a good thing he didn’t have any more sense than to buy a Datsun because if it had been a real truck I could have done some real damage.

He was only awake for a short time, and we took him outside and he sat by the fire and drifted back to sleep. We ate and sat around the fire, just like always, or just like always has become, and then we picked Tim up and carried him inside and put him in bed.

I kissed his head and said good night, and that was the day.


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