Nothing's really happening here, my Grandfather's illness hasn't really manifested itself yet...
Except for this persistent cough. Innocent sounding enough, you'd think he had a cold, if you didn't know about the tumor sleeping in his lungs.
When I first got here, he told me he was afraid. He asked me if there was anything I knew that could help him.
You know, me with all my advanced education that he never had. Seems logical enough to expect me to know something useful.
All I could come up with was, "well... you aren't alone."
And I'm thinking of Conrad noting that we live and dream alone. I'm thinking of Baudelaire rejecting the rotting flesh for gleaming metal. I'm thinking of the cyberpunk kids trying to crawl out of their doomed bodies through their modems.
I'm thinking, that none of that would probably make him feel much better. But then, I'm not trained to comfort people, I'm trained to upset them.
So all I can really do is be here, and only be here for a little while, before the needs of my own life call me back halfway across the country. It seems like too little...
Everything is coming out wrong tonight. Not like I want it to.
Let me just leave you with a verse from a Chris Pureka song I find fairly apt right now...
Take care of yourselves, everybody.
Life is cruel and it's clumsy
(but we never explain)
I wish I could say that it's better than that
(why we treasure our secrets)
but this is our time
(how we're in love with our sadness sometimes)
this is all that we have 'til we turn out the lights...
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