After almost 6 months of waiting my dear friend David finally made it to the other side today. I made it over at 1000 and Smiley said he'd been going downhill since 0430ish  but I held his had and talked to him. The room was pretty crowded with the spirits of people who were waiting for him; his brother, his dad and others I'd never met -- although a few people I'd asked to come along were there.
He started getting very cold around noonish and Smiley left to take a shower around 1300. David and I just talked -- well, I talked and David listened and at 1358 he jerked once, gave a happy sigh and was gone. the room felt so cold and alert. I knew he'd finally reached out and taken Her hand. I watched him relax then closed his eyes. Then I cried, because I'd promised him I wouldn't cry while he was alive. I never said I wouldn't cry once he was dead.
Thank the Gods he doesn't hurt anymore. The rest of the afternoon was spent waiting for the hospice nurse to pronounce him dead, the coroner and the funeral home. Smiley and I collected his things for the funeral -- why David did you want an open casket funeral???!!! We hate those!! Yes, we be there anyways.....collected Smiley's things since he'd been there almost 24/7 then shut the lights off, turned down the heat, put Dave's hat on the back of his favourite chair and locked the door.

It's snowing like a sonovabitch out -- blizzard white out -- and I've got a cup of tea and a bun. I'm tired down to my bones and I'm sad, but I'm happy too. Because David doesn't hurt anymore. He doesn't have to be trapped in that body that was wracked with cancer and agony, he can run and be bossy and annoying as all hell. He can whack people with spatulas and tell them to "Get Off My Road!!" as much as he wants.

My friend has gone on to his Next Great Adventure.

 I hate having the feeling of wishing a friend would die. Every morning now I'm looking for a message on the phone and hoping there will be one there saying he's gone. Sounds really morbid doesn't it? Horrible, terrible bloody awful -- yet every time I wake up and the message *isn't* there I know David is still fighting, still hurting, still trapped in his body. All I can do is cry, but never around him because I promised I wouldn't.

My friend has pancreatic cancer and we all found about it in September. They gave him 4 months and here it is 5. He's gone from a tall robust man of 200 something to maybe 130 pounds, all his bones showing, waxen, vomitting, unable to keep anything down and living on root beer popsickles.After this I don't think I can look at another one of those without bawling.

He's down to peeing blood with bloody chunks in it(ow ow ow it makes me hurt just thinking about it) but never really complains. At least not to me. Ken doesn't say anything either and he's sleeping there overnights now.  We watch him  breathe and stop breathing for 5-10 seconds, then damn ourselves when he starts up again.

I know when Death walks in the room; I've felt Her every time. She's just waiting for him to give up; She has infinite paitence in these things whereas I don't and just want to scream at Her-- and at David. It takes a lot of control not to do either and I'm sick and tired (very tired) of  controlling the child that wants to cry. I was spinning on my drop spindle yesterday while watching David and felt like such a Crone on a Deathwatch. Three full bobbins of good wool spun, Death checking in and out, David puking, me crying inwardly and wishing he would die. 

Sorry this was so morbid. Some days you just have to write this shit down before it poisons you.

 
This is Mauverneen. The first posting with a picture I've done (WhoooHooo)  and this is some artwork I've done with my wood burning pen. I found the bowl at a yard sale for 5$ and had to spend quite a few hours getting her back into condition as the man had it down in a damp basement for  a couple of years -- not a good place to store wood. Myrtlewood is lovely to burn on. Soft, grainless and beautiful. I couldn't bear to put it down and when I was finished just a hand rub with "Tried and True" beeswax and linseed oil finish was all it took to bring out a soft luster. I didn't really want a hard shine on her. My sister in law was practicing her Gaelic and mentionedthe word "mauverneen" or "Beloved" I look a lot of time with this little dish and  so that's what I named her.
One of our Gallery Walk directors insisted that I enter her in the Oshkosh 150 (the Sesquicentenial project) the City was doing. We didn't win anything but she received plenty of praise; and meanwhile my Mother had been dropping hints that Mauvorneen was her favorite as well. She cried when I gave the bowl to her for Christmas. I really should show off more of my work.
My father taught me how to wood burn in the 70's but I didn't start again until the mid 90's. Father can construct Celtic peices out of his head by hand without paper -- I need compass and graph and a copy machine........

 I think I did it. I think I just got the hang of actually putting the right tags on the little icon thingys and hopefully crediting the correct people. Not a big deal? It is when you're just starting out doing this thingy.

 Ooooo My first posting on Live Journal.  Maybe I'll get the hang of this on-line stuff yet! Now if I could only figure out where I could change the fonts, I'd be in business!. I do like the icon though. My cousin sent it to me, although I don't know where she found it.