Death follows us wherever we go. The first time I really noticed Death, he took Aunt Nan. I wasn't close to Aunt Nan; she lived next door to my grandparents down in Baltimore City. She wore dark clothing and old lady shoes and looked at us kids softly, never saying too much. After her funeral, we all congregated in the basement and ate deli tray sandwiches.
Death came next for my Uncle Lawrence and I've been mad at Death ever since. Every Saturday for several months, my father would drop me off at University Hospital on his way to his practice, and I'd head up to the eleventh floor where my Uncle lay dying of leukemia. Near the end, I'd wipe the blood from his lips, and he'd say thank you. Every single time. My school books accompanied me, as well as novels and art supplies and I'd sit in that bedside chair as he dozed on and off. The smell of the room still lingers in my nostrils to this day and when I think of the final afternoon in his presence, I think of blood and the November breeze swirling the leaves outside. November 5th, my last day with him, I remember a minister came and asked if he wanted communion. Uncle Lawrence, a staunch Roman Catholic, received the bread and grape juice from a Baptist minister.
Uzun zaman önce bu yazı için ve arıyordum sonunda burada buldum ... Bu yazı paylaşım için teşekkür ... teşekkür ederiz!
Posted by: sohbet | March 09, 2010 at 11:23 AM