Posted 11:35 PM by sport

I see her sweet, sky-blue eyes every time I see Miles, and yesterday I saw hers again, now sightless and distant. She still hears, so I told her all I could think to say, kissed her as much as I could, held her close and sang some songs. Stardust (which we danced to when I married Shelley), Night and Day, Skylark, Small Fry, La Mer, I've Got You Under My Skin, I'll Be Seeing You, Paper Doll and others. She managed a few returned kisses and a number of smiles. Even now, frail and mysterious as it is, that smile is the sun, moon and stars. She is supposedly in no pain now, and that's a comfort. It's hard to predict how this is going to go with regard to my sister and me. I worry that she's gonna fall apart, since she's been the one taking care of Mom every day and night for months now. Her agony, weariness and worry is clear to see, and when the moment arrives I fear what all that bottled-up pain will become. Her caring and that of her husband Ira has been incredible... Mom could not have had finer and more tender treatment, and it's a debt I owe them. As for me, I have to assume I'll manage; I have no choice. But this is the fucking worst... the thing I've dreaded most in life.


I write this now as a means of putting it somewhere outside my head. Others reading this have gone through the same, and with enough grace and forbearance not to publicly wail. So I'm sorry for that... just trying to use what I can to cope. That's what a lot of this blogging has been, of course. Thanks to those of you who have responded in ways huge and small through all these avalanches; I know you will be there in coming weeks and months as well, and I thank you in advance because I truly don't know how well I'll be able to do so. One becomes numb, in part, after such relentless loss. Not numb to the love or the sorrow, but to other things... parts of me are dead, and that's just part of growing up, maybe. This is true, though: I am acutely aware of how lucky I've been to have this wonderful family, and I take all the tears as part of the bundle. I'm lucky to have my own wife and kids, 4 lifelines to the reason it all happens and all matters. I'm lucky to know such friends who've always reminded me what music and laughter can do even when I didn't feel that another song or smile was possible. I'll need it a lot now. And, best luck of all, I had Helen Rose. Christ, I am going to miss her.