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October 29, 2011
The business of dying
This floor is tilted, hold on to the walls, the lights go on and off, there is a worm in the system, it is infected and we might
crash.......... are we on schedule, what day is it..... we lost the track of time.... Time....I can never understand time...there is an open season on comprehension of time..... we are wasting it.... trying to grasp how far or how close we are....... Let's stay with the facts, lets stay with what we know, the clarity of seeing objects, good lighting and the necessity of repetition,.... the closeness , the intimacy of familiar, like.. life ...ah.. THAT IS ANOTHER ONE, no, lets just stay with Life in relation to Death.....
We could focus on entrance and exit... yes, however entrance could be only birth and Exit points at death. So the symbols change, how about life....in correlation to birth and Death...... we could call it the stay.... I mean staying within the parameters of Birth and death... inside the equation...within .....am I clear? !
You better get used to my morbid subject...... my father is dying and I need to get my head around it and the only way I can do that is by spelling the whole subject to myself here..... So you could go away... however I need to stay here and I need to know how to reason an understanding.for myself.
Well he has been distant.... no, he has been put.... Since the day my son was born...yes exactly on that day....I left him
not physically ....inside my head he was past and my son was the future and my duty was to go on... I cut most of the arteries, the ones that had survived our relationship....... through out the years... the anger and the frustration, the walls that we built together as we lost the sight of each other...... the man that he was... the son that I wanted to be....the hand that stretched and held for a while and then slipped away.
I was four or five when in the crowd of the Bazaar I lost him.........he found me picked me up and held me while I cried..and I remember the exact moment after the birth of my son when he lost me..... I did cry ..I could not explain why here I was moving on......he was staying.... I had his grandson's hand in mine and we walked away.....The rest was shorter stays...... quiet hellos and missed goodbyes...... across the telephone wire, the awkward silences.... I guess we were both new to this..........................................
There is finality to death. and life though persistent, is so very fragile.......Yes we will go through all the routines..... as properly as possible...... and we get to share our sorrow as private as it is......we are the social animal.... we smile we cry and grieve ...we accept and we object and yet we go on
Posted by Idinraha at 04:29 PM | Comments (1)
October 19, 2011
Where is it ?
I looked in all the draws, in the bedroom......the closets , even the kitchen....
where could it be........ I know it is late and it is dark in here but hey I need
to find it.... No, No .. do not turn the light, just leave me... It could be down
stairs or up and yes..I have lived here long and I know every inch of this house.
right there at the bottom of the stairs is where we stood as my son ran aeound
the house and came back asking if he could do it again...... ... No there was
a wall there ... we took it away for a large dinning room we wanted......... yes
we put hardwood floor everywhere and there by the door is where my daughter
stood at sweet age of five and declared she is going away since our was was
ugly (with all the constructions)! she would stay with her grandmother until the
the house was pretty again. And there, there in the family room our ritual was
to take big white plain papers and bring out all the crayons, glues, glitters and
draw free form, all of us for hours, laying down on our bellies side by side drawing,
putting the colors together, mixing them with the glitter and glue and then proudly
displayed them afterward. Da ddy, Daddy,,, I am artistic like you ... mydaughter
would say with a smile on her face.
Posted by Idinraha at 03:54 PM | Comments (0)
Dr Gabriel.........
Hospitals are so sterile......White walls .... hallways.. the smell of infections sour .... the quiet presence of death walking in the corridors.....leaving cold vapor hanging in the air......
He is scared .....his head bent , bones ache... he jerks his head to the side and finds a way to look up.....his pupils lifeless, no motion, looking at you......through an empty window... no recognition.....his head falls back.
Season of loss...... the horsemen are coming dressed in blacks of Apocalypse yielding their swords........I let the drape down.... light is cruel and there should be a moment for us to withdraw......... I here the elevator stops and the bell rings
he is crawling on the floor .......finding his way to the open door. and the vinyl corridor that goes forever in successions of florescent lights.....he is willing toward the elevator and I am thinking would he manage to push the button....
I took a picture of his ventilator, his feeding tube........ as the liquid dark beige moved up within ......I took a picture of all
the tubes and lights.....shiny red numbers going on and off......he was attached and breathing, his eyes closed . mouth gaped open face bones tortured deformed,,,,,, splayed on the bed motionless... I walk toward him, once next to him I rubbed my fingers against his bearded chin............
I think the machines took some of him, warm as he was ........ he has been debriefed and declassified....... ..........and I still wonder would he know which button to push once he crawled in the elevator.......
Posted by Idinraha at 03:19 PM | Comments (0)