the life of richie

WITH HAIR LIKE CLOUDS

Posted in is by Rich on July 15, 2009

Mom says, she has seen the signs before, she says: the dye cast in the catheter bag; the hands shaking like Death’s childish rattles; seen the signs with her mother.

Her mother, the one with hair like clouds; Living Grandfather (her Not-Father) stirs the latent soup, dredging it all up again. She calls Rich, drunk, slurring, “I was the one. Not my father. I was the one –– the one who had to make the decision (at the end). I loved her… But I had to…”

“I’m hanging up.” Their conversation is DNR.

Later, calmer, saner & soberer, she says, “It’s so difficult to watch,” and Rich knows that she is watching not just Living-Dying Grandfather, not just the short-order cook, but also the woman with hair like clouds, who floated away so many years ago now. She is watching them all watch her, herself, watching; and waiting; for another end.

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