sad, saying a slow good-bye to a friend

[maddog]

I am only one; but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something; I will not refuse to do the something I can do.
~ Helen Keller ~

This came up at the top of the forum today. It fits with what I am doing right now.

:qsigh:

Unfortunately, I'm not very good at doing much, and the "somethings" that I can do don't amount to a whole lot. When it comes right down to it, I'm pretty much no good at anything except showing up. I can show up. I showed up for dinner with my pal Charlie once a week for the last few years. Now we only have maybe a few weeks left. All I have to do is show up at the hospital every few days -- once a week is too far apart at this point. There's nothing I can really do . . . just show up. His biggest desire is for a large bottle of ginger ale. It seems so little. What do we really have to offer one another, anyway? Not much, it seems. You live essentially alone. No one understands. And then you die -- alone.

The only thing between us is basically showing up. A routine. Taking turns about where to go to dinner. Talking about things. Playing little games. Passing time. Being in one another's company. And yet this gruff ex-Marine, ex-alcoholic, steady worker, cranky old geezer said, "There are all different kinds of love. And I love you, Jo." Just because I was sitting there with him, pouring little bits of 7-up in a cup, reading a stupid New Yorker story to him. So little. So very, very, very little.

#78

[LadyShea]

That "little" is a lot when your time is short. I am sorry for your impending loss, and admire your sticking with your friend to the end.

[SharonDee]

Yeah, what LadyShea said. Your presence at his side means a lot, I'm sure.

(((maddog)))

[viscousmemories]

That's a moving sentiment, Jo. Thanks for sharing it. As far as I know you can do about as much as anyone, and you're doing it. Your pal Charlie is lucky to know you. :deepsigh:

[pescifish]

I think our company is the best of what we can give our loved ones. I'm so sorry to hear that you will lose him soon.

[livius drusus]

Love and loyalty and companionship are not little things, imo. When they only strengthen under duress they're even huger things. I'm so sorry, maddog. :(

[Petra]

Oh, maddog. I'm so sorry. :(

And like what the others here have said - your friendship is something that I'm sure means more to Charlie than anything else you possibly could do.

[xorbie]

Oh, maddog. I'm so sorry. :(

And like what the others here have said - your friendship is something that I'm sure means more to Charlie than anything else you possibly could do.

Ditto. I'm really sorry man. :(

[HelenM]

Hi maddog,

I'm sorry :(; it must be hard and I understand that it seems so little. But it is something and you'll always have the memories of the time you're spending with Charlie now.

Helen

[seebs]

Beautifully written.

[Sonnet]

The last bit of someone's life is a profoundly altering time - you'll find, I think, that it turns out to be one of the best, as well as the worst, times in your own life. You can give Charlie the gift of your company and friendship, and he can give you the privilege of watching him take leave of this place, leaving what's important with those who surround him. The sum of our time here is what others have of us when we go.

How beautifully bittersweet that, at the end, we have this to offer each other.

Good luck, man. Don't miss a thing, open yourself to all impressions and emotions, and give Charlie the sendoff he deserves. It's going to be beautiful and terrible, horrifying, humbling and heartening, awfully, frighteningly, messily human and breathtakingly divine.

[beyelzu]

I am only one; but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something; I will not refuse to do the something I can do.
~ Helen Keller ~

This came up at the top of the forum today. It fits with what I am doing right now.

:qsigh:

Unfortunately, I'm not very good at doing much, and the "somethings" that I can do don't amount to a whole lot. When it comes right down to it, I'm pretty much no good at anything except showing up. I can show up. I showed up for dinner with my pal Charlie once a week for the last few years. Now we only have maybe a few weeks left. All I have to do is show up at the hospital every few days -- once a week is too far apart at this point. There's nothing I can really do . . . just show up. His biggest desire is for a large bottle of ginger ale. It seems so little. What do we really have to offer one another, anyway? Not much, it seems. You live essentially alone. No one understands. And then you die -- alone.

The only thing between us is basically showing up. A routine. Taking turns about where to go to dinner. Talking about things. Playing little games. Passing time. Being in one another's company. And yet this gruff ex-Marine, ex-alcoholic, steady worker, cranky old geezer said, "There are all different kinds of love. And I love you, Jo." Just because I was sitting there with him, pouring little bits of 7-up in a cup, reading a stupid New Yorker story to him. So little. So very, very, very little.

#78


I think I understand how you feel, or at least I will one day fairly soon. I have a friend with a brain tumor.

life can be pretty fucked up, but your friendship almost certainly helps charlie deal with that. :(

[Goliath]

I'm sorry, maddog. :deepsigh: :(

[maddog]

Thank you so much, guys, for your sympathy/empathy responses.

I know my visits mean a lot to both Charlie and me; I just feel so incompetent. The medical staff are doing all the hard things (i.e., incl. all the "shit" work), for which they dedicatedly trained themselves. I couldn't begin to do what they do, not even if my life depended on it. I was never willing to sacrifice myself enough to do that kind of work. I get the easy part -- just showing up. It's very humbling and doesn't feel very credit-worthy at all.

#82

[freemonkey]

I get the easy part -- just showing up. It's very humbling and doesn't feel very credit-worthy at all.
I don't think that's easy at all, its probably one of the hardest things I can think of to do, watching someone die, and not being able to do a thing about it. Just that you show up there says volumes about you, {{{maddog}}}.

[HelenM]

Thank you so much, guys, for your sympathy/empathy responses.

I know my visits mean a lot to both Charlie and me; I just feel so incompetent. The medical staff are doing all the hard things (i.e., incl. all the "shit" work), for which they dedicatedly trained themselves. I couldn't begin to do what they do, not even if my life depended on it. I was never willing to sacrifice myself enough to do that kind of work. I get the easy part -- just showing up. It's very humbling and doesn't feel very credit-worthy at all.

#82

You can't do what they do, but they can't be who you are - Charlie's friend. You're not just 'showing up'; you're being a faithful friend. I'm sure it means a lot to Charlie.

Helen

[Scotty]

I think you are doing great. A few years ago, I was going to visit my friend in the hospital for the first time since he got sick, and got an emergency call back to work. He died the next day.

-Scott