Dear Ray

I have a very old friend. It's not his age that is old, it is the length of time we have known each other. We met, or should I say I introduced myself to him, at the beginning of freshman year in college. I can still remember the first time I saw him walking on campus in his high school wrestling letter jacket. Do high schools still do that? Have letter jackets?

Ray in High School. He still looked like this Freshman year. Cute, right?

He and I have been in and out of touch throughout the years. No matter what, even though we have grown, changed, and went our separate ways, we still have a connection. We can get mad at each other, think the other one is obnoxious, wonder "WTF!" about each other, but there is still that abiding love and respect. (Right now my pal would have to add a comment like, "Maybe for you," and then laugh.)

We were young and stupid when we met. That we both agree on. I could have treated him better and he could have been more assertive. Should have, could have, would have. It doesn't matter. It was and we are.

Ray has been sick for a very long time. He used to drink. A lot and often. When I introduced myself to him, we were at a bar. Being naive and sheltered at the time, I didn't know how to recognize alcoholism. I still think Ray hid it from me, but he disagrees...I think.

Anyway, he drank himself into needing and receiving a liver transplant. He did quit drinking and hasn't partook in nearly 20 years. You have to give him a lot of credit! This is just one reason I respect him.

Since then, his kidneys were damaged and he is on kidney dialysis awaiting another organ transplant. Here is what is probably an incomplete list of what has happened since:

• 4 hernia operations
• Fluid removed from his brain
• 3 strokes
• Open heart surgery to replace a heart valve

Recently, he is back in the hospital. His back was hurting and then he couldn't breath. After living through a painful backbone biopsy where the instrument got stuck in his back during the procedure and having a tube put in his back between 2 ribs to drain infected fluid from his lungs, he finds out he has a staff infection in his bones and elsewhere. The heart valve he had put in not that long ago is infected, too, so that needs to be replaced.

He has all kinds of doctors taking care of him. He says the nurses are wonderful. Ray is now a case study and interns are learning about him.

Last night, I spoke to Ray on the phone. He told me that one of the docs isn't comfortable replacing his heart valve until they check out the possible blood clot in his brain. What?! The past week or so, Ray keeps revealing a new problem the docs have discovered. I am speechless, over and over. I wonder to myself, "How is he doing it? How does he keep going?"

Ray laughs on the phone at one of his bad jokes. I roll my eyes on the other end and I'm sure he can hear me do it. He says he keeps going because he has to. He tries not to think about it. Last week he confessed that he did think about drinking once but it was brief. It wouldn't get him anywhere.

A few days ago he told me about a ghost that resides in his hospital room. A few times it has walked by his bed and squeezed his toes. It also makes noises in the bathroom. When he said, "Hello there," to the ghost, it responded by giggling.

We both believe in past lives. Because of all the physical suffering he has gone through and continues to experience, he is convinced he was Hitler and Karma is taking its toll.

What I know to be fact is that I have never heard him moan, "Why me?" I have never heard him feel sorry for himself. Sure he has cried. I mean, come on! He tells me he keeps fighting because there is no other choice. Spoken like a true wrestler. You don't stop until you are pinned and the ref calls it.

Jim - Still Here

It has been 4 1/2 months since Jim passed. I think about him. When I do, sometimes it is reviewing the bad times and I realize I am still angry about those. Sometimes I think about the Twin Flames connection we had. Still have. There are some memories where the two connect.

In this memory I was mad at Jim for some reason. It could have been because of any combination of his drug use, drinking, or lying. We both acknowledged that in our pasts we were together in some form or another so in my present anger I told him that I have cut the cord. I was done. I wouldn't have him be a part of my future lives. Flabbergasted, he replied, "You can't do that!"

I said, "Yes, I can! I am done being there for you and then helplessly stand by as you continually make the wrong decisions. I'm not doing it anymore. It is so frustrating and it hurts me."

When I see a man that resembles Jim, I do a double take. The pain in the pit of my stomach tells me I still feel the loss of not having him in my life, even as spotty as it was prior to his death.

The connection we had, we still have. He visits me from time to time sometimes so intensely I am filled to the brim with the comfort and love he can now share. I think it's funny that he likes to visit when I am with my mother, like he did today.

My Sunday visit with Mom was routine - lunch and Goodwill shopping. On my way to taking her home, I turned into her subdivision. That is when Jim popped up in the backseat. I asked him, "What are you doing here?" His answer? "I'm just here for the ride." Typical Jim. I started laughing and shared it with my mother. She said, "Isn't that clever," and laughed, too.

Your loved ones are never far from you. Even if you can't hear them or see them, feel them or touch them, they are there. If you talk to them, they listen. Their love is still yours. They know how deeply you feel their loss and that, for some of you, you are walking through this life with a chunk of yourself missing.

They want you to be happy so do what you can to be happy.

The Bell

Her consciousness bubbled up and up and up from the depths eventually, slowly, breaking free. Her body, especially her brain, had needed the time to heal. Now it was time to get back to living. She was back.

She was back? It was so dark. Was it nighttime? Where were the stars and the moon? She blinked and blinked. Nothing. She reached up with her hands to feel her eyes. Her knuckles hit something hard. She stopped. Her breathing became fast and shallow as her heart jumped and heaved in her chest.

Spreading out her fingers, she felt the wooden box's top, sides, and bottom. She kicked her feet, listening to the thuds with no echos. The blood that now furiously coursed through her veins pounded in her ears making her head hurt.  

Profusely sweating, she felt for the rope. It has to be tied to here somewhere.

***

Inside the church everyone was singing except for Robert. He was too devastated to sing. He wanted to punch the walls, kick the pews, and yell about his sorrow that ran through every muscle of his body filling his mouth with acid. And yet, here he was with his neighbors, head down, sitting quietly this Christmas morning.

God wasn't real and he sure as hell wasn't his savior anymore. The scene kept playing over and over in his mind making the choir's singing and pastor's words a garble of background noise. The wild pony kicking his beloved in the head. Rebecca dropping to the ground like a lifeless sack of flour. Robert running over to her as if in slow motion, his legs not moving fast enough. Finally grabbing her up in his arms speaking her name. Blood trickling from her ears, her eyelids fluttered then closed.

***

There it was. Her panic subsiding a bit, she felt the course rope tied to her right wrist. She knew at the other end of it, suspended above her plot, was a bell. Grabbing the rope with both of her hands, she pulled down. Rebecca wished she could hear it ringing. She let the rope back up then pulled down again. Again. Again. Again.

***

The alcoholic town doctor stood at Rebecca's bedside and facing Robert told him there was no hope. She was dead. No! No! No! He couldn't silent the screaming in his head. Seeking revenge, anything to make himself feel better, he grabbed his rifle. He charged out the door not hearing the loud slam as it violently closed behind him. Through the bedroom window, the doctor watched Robert speed forward to the corral. Not being able to handle one more death, he turned around. Taking the flask from his breast pocket, he took a long swig.

Robert looked at the pony over his rifle. The horse's big brown eyes looked back. He and Rebecca hadn't named her yet. They were waiting for her to be able to be ridden first. She was beautiful. They both fell in love her the second they saw her. If he killed her, he would be killing Rebecca. He lowered the rifle and leaning it against the fence post he cried. He crumbled to the ground, his back against the corral and his face in his arms. Grief blanketed him and he embraced it.

The doc, his emotions paralyzed by the hootch, turned back around to look out the window. He hadn't heard the sound of a gun shot as he expected so what was happening? He had trouble believing what his drunk eyes saw through the wavy glass so he walked out to the front porch.

The mare poked her head through the fence to snuffle Robert's neck. He jumped at the unexpected contact. Spooked, she pulled her head back in and snortled. Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, he stood up and faced her. She didn't move. He turned back around and waited. About a minute or two later, he heard her hoofs hitting the hard earth as she walked back to him. He felt her head slide next to his. He reached up slowly and felt her soft muzzle. She chortled so he ran his hand up her face to her forelock and back down. Moving slowly again and being as quiet as he could, he turned around. The mare remained close. Robert cried new tears as he hung to her neck.

***

Rebecca was sobbing but now it was getting harder to breath. Her arms were growing tired. She couldn't remember what got her there. Robert. My sweet strong Robert. She had to get back to him. Each time the horror of her reality rose inside of her she squelched it as best she could. Pull the rope. Ring the bell.

***

Robert stood along with the congregation. Hearing the Merry Christmas greetings around him was too much. Quickly, he made his way to the front door and out the church. What was that sound? He stopped to listen with earnestness. Congregants were starting to leave the church, too, and he raised his hand and voice telling them to stop and be quiet. He heard it again and hat in had took off racing toward the graveyard. Confused, they followed him anyway.

Someone yelled, "Grab a shovel!"

***

The rope was getting slippery from her bloodied hands. All of a sudden it was pulled from her grasp! Was she hallucinating? She felt around for it in the thick blackness and pulled on it again. There was a return tug on the rope. She cried with joy, relief, and impatience. She listened so hard wanting to hear the voices of those above her. She yelled, "I'm here! I'm alive!"

Shovel. Dirt. Shovel. Dirt. Muffled voices.

"Rebecca, honey. We're coming to get you. Don't you worry, girl. Don't give up. We're here. Robert's here." He kept wiping away the snot and tears, drying his hands on his pants so he could keep a grip on his shovel.

Light burned her eyes as the lid was removed from her coffin. Robert reached down and picked her up. Then she felt someone take her from his arms and gently lay her on the ground. She squinted against the sun until it was blocked by a shadow. Opening her eyes, she saw his face. "Robert."

Jim is Free

Besides going to the beach, Jim and I used to go to Gillespie Park and feed the squirrels roasted unsalted peanuts in the shell. With each visit they came to know us and once we were spotted we felt joy as we watched them scurry down from the trees and run over. Jim and I sat in the same spot every time so they knew the drill. We did it so often that a few of the braver ones would take the peanuts directly from our out-stretched fingers. For the rest of the crew, we would throw the nuts a few feet to them from our perch on beach towels at the top of a little hill.We enjoyed doing this for many reasons. First, the squirrels were fun to watch and it was fun feeding them. Secondly, having a squirrel take a peanut from your fingers was a thrill. Lastly, it was meditative and a quiet time for us to be together. It was always hard for us to pull ourselves away from there and go back to the realities and stresses of life.


Jim passed away this morning at 11:15. I was at work and was planning on leaving at 1 o'clock to see him. With his brother's urgent text message, I packed up and left at 10:30am instead. When I walked into Jim's room, I saw his sister-in-law at his side and I heard her tell Jim that I was there. I dropped my things on the table, hugged his brother and then hugged his sister-in-law. Before I sat down in the chair next to Jim's bed, his sister-in-law told me that he was waiting for me before he would pass.

"Hi, Sweetie." I took one of his hands in mine and with the other I caressed his head. "Hi, Baby. It's okay. Everything is okay." After a couple of labored breaths that seemed like hours apart, he stopped.

Free from pain, free from guilt, free from all of the bad memories that haunted him. Jim is free.