Notes to Steve...
Wednesday 1/22/03 2:32:13 AM
Oh, my Deary, the things you do get yourself into. This time last week you were here and all was well. Then the sinus infection got ya. I love you so much, and sixteen years is not enough time. I miss you. I'm waitin' for you, my Deary
But, tonight they brain washed you, and that is the best news I can think of right now. You've had a wash and flush and I'm hoping that things will look better in the morning.
When you do things, you do 'em big, you atypical bastard.
I've been shouting sinus infection at everybody for a while now. Took 'em two days to even consider that. Dr. Chambers says that they treat a million patients every year and only see something like this every other. You had 'em all baffled. First, it was a stroke. The type of stroke that the neurosurgeon says he rarely sees in men…
Yeah, you have a neurosurgeon and an infectious disease specialist, a rotating staff of ICU Doctors, a cute intern, and a whole flock of blonde nurses. (Oh, you are hereby allowed to make passes at all the nurses. Just be nice. If you woke up enough for that, I'd jump for joy.)
They were saying it was a blockage somewhere in the neck, blocking two of the four arteries feeding the brain, the type of stroke that is usually seen in women who smoke and take birth control pills. A stroke that's 60-70 present fatal.
Erin says I turned gray when he told me that.
Sunday morning Dr. Bailey, the neurosurgeon, was not very optimistic, cuz you are sick, boy.
We still don't know how sick you are and I'm worried. But I'm still holding to the hope that you'll get through this.
Monday night, Dr. Chambers was even less optimistic, cause what they finally figured out happened was that your infection blew through the back wall of the sinus and pooled in the right temporal lobe. But, Monday night they weren't even thinking about operating. The pressure in your head was still too high and your brain might have ruptured out, which was not an option. They needed to operate and they couldn't. Chambers said that Bailey didn't want to be an executioner, and I understand that.
None of us ever thought something like this could happen. Us is: me, Mom, Dad, Erin, Brenda, and Rose and everybody else who hears of it.
Tuesday 1/28/03 3:21:50 AM
All right, you've had me distracted for a while now.
Thursday was not a good day…
But, back to the story. Erin came over the Sunday this all gelled. Brenda was in your room waiting for me when I got there Sunday morning. Your Mom and Dad were here Monday. I called Rose Sunday night and she was there Monday.
They put a vent in your head.
I'm not real sure which day; they're all kinda running together right now. I think it was Sunday.
It's to drain fluid and measure pressure. I was ok with the whole thing till I came back into your room and saw the little hand-crank drill sitting on the counter. That was a wiggens. I had thought about what they were doing and how you'd look after. Never really thought about how they were doing it. Seems kinda medieval. But, an electric drill wouldn't have the same sensitivity. Once I thought about it, I was rather relieved.
I lived through Monday. We leak occasionally, all of us, but we laugh as much, you know your family. But what else are you gonna do? We waited the day out thinking you'd had a stroke. Then came Monday. After Rose left, Dr. Chambers showed up. It was sometime around nine PM when he gave me the even worse news.
The sinus infection had broken through the back of the temporal sinus and into your head. It was VERY bad, but...
At this repetition, I summed up what has become a litany, 'it's VERY bad, we don't know, don't give up hope'.
Oh, my Deary, I'd already done so much more than you ever wanted in your life. I let hope go a little. I worked myself up to letting you go Tuesday morning. I was prepared for the worst. But, Tuesday last, they operated and got the infection out. They opened the side of your head, sucked it out, and flushed your sinuses. Now you have three more holes than I do, so I think you've won the competition.
Tuesday was a good day.
Wednesday 1/29/03 12:28:25 AM
You lost me again.
I have to sleep sometime. It's not easy but I do fall over at about four in the morning and once I'm asleep... well, it's not good, but I don't notice it. I spend the days at the hospital. Erin's been here most nights. I'm alone tonight trying to adjust to it all.
And I don't know how I'm gonna do it. sixteen years is not enough. I want more. I want to hear your voice. I want a hug. I want you back. I want you to haunt me. I just want you back.
I'm sorry for a lot of things, Deary. But as we all say, shoulda, woulda, coulda. Didn’t. The real problem of my life blindsided me on an idle Saturday. I wish I had thought.
But nobody did, really. Not even the neurosurgeon. Not until they put the drain in. They called Chambers in after testing the cerebral fluid they got. Yer making people think real hard and I know how much you like that. I'm hoping that you make 'em think harder and recover from this. They still haven't grown anything from your blood or cerebral fluid. Nobody knows what it is. There are doctors having conferences over you. Some good doctors.
I've got qualms over the ER doctor, he barely looked at you, and you were obviously in an altered mental state. The evaluating nurse caught that. But he pumped you full of fluids, gave you a painkiller, and sent you home. I wish I had been pushy and insisted, but you had a sinus infection. I didn't think. Do you remember that? We were in the ER Friday night cause you were acting dopey and you were hurting so badly. He barely looked at you and I should have said something, 'cuz I didn't think he'd done a very good job.
You got an 'oh shit' look out of him the next night. I asked for a different doctor but we couldn't get that till they got you upstairs. Who am I to be pushy? I don't have insurance. If we'd had insurance you'd of had the damn things flushed a long time ago.
Shoulda, woulda, coulda. Didn't.
I'm sorry.
Life sucks and you might be dead.
But I have to wait and I'm trying to wait patiently.
You know how I am, though. I have no patients.
Saturday you were worse with signs of left side paralysis. And I was still thinking sinus infection. I even filled your prescriptions. That's a hundred and thirty dollars shot. No matter what, you'll never use 'em. They've got you pumped so full of steroids and antibiotics it's gonna have to be super bug, and they've got a big gun left for that, if we need it.
I'm focused on the moments now. Trying to let it all flow. I don't know how I'm gonna get through it all.
Everybody keeps saying how young you are. It was the first thing your Mom said to me on the phone Sunday morning. It was one of the first things I heard after someone walked into the room. I hope you can hear it. You never believed me.
We've given you all sorts of silly nicknames. We are your family, we take out the weakest first, and right now, you’re an easy target. All you gotta do is sit up and defend yourself.
The first was E.T., cause there's a probe taped to your finger that glows red. Then came NASDAQ, cause you've been up and down so much and so spectacularly. I've watched your heart rate jump a hundred points in seconds. I watched the pressure in your head creep up to twenty-seven. Fifteen is the high end of normal. Thirty is where they put you into a barbiturate coma to stop the swelling. I've watched both your blood pressures, arterial and the one taken with a cuff on the arm… don't remember what it's called...
My brain is mush. I'm kinda gliding on auto-pilot now.
I've watched your pressure climb and do the watusie all over the range.
You've also been christened Nintendo, cause that's what all the machines wired and tubed to you sound like.
Your parents got here Monday.
Am I repeating myself? My brain's a little frozen now.
The food in the cafeteria isn't bad.
You're sucking down some nasty brown stuff. Brad wants to know if you'd prefer pizza.
What's Brad doing there? You might ask.
Yeah, back to the time line. Where were we?
Tuesday was a good day. They gave you a wash and flush. You were responding well, considering. I went home feeling good for the first time in days.
They've been up front with me all along. No one expects you to pull through this. But they've tried damn hard, and it would be rude to not go along with the plan.
Wednesday you looked at me. When I came in you had your eyes open and I swear you were blinking at me. You squeezed my hand twice. I don't remember what I said the first time, but the second was when I said 'you know how I am without my coffee.' You squeezed my hand and Wednesday was a good day. A waiting day. We waited and watched you pea. Brenda said she'd never dreamed she'd be so interested in your urine. But we all watch the volume and color. You have the kidneys of a horse. You’re diabetic now. But that's shock to the system as much as anything else.
Thursday I signed the DNR order. Thursday was a bad day. Thursday we rushed Brad up from Joplin and stood around hoping, you'd make it till he got there.
Wednesday 1/29/03 9:20:19 PM
I'm back.
I'm torn Deary. I want to stay with you in the hospital, and I have for the important things. But I have every confidence in the care you're receiving, and there's nothing I can do. There's too much to do elsewhere. I've got a start with the paperwork and I'm getting' along ok, for now. It's not gonna get easier either way. But I'm dealing, so you can come back without any fear.
Deary, I'll make the decisions and all, you win. Now come home. As Etheridge says 'Lover stop, lover don't, lover, lover please…' Been listening to a lot of Etheridge of late. Trying to wrap my head around a way to cremate you with out money. Debating memorial ideas. All the standard stuff.
Deary, I love you, I want you home, whatever it takes.
Thursday things went wrong. There was a mix-up and you got more fluid than you should have. Shit happens.
Your brain was still swelling and the extra volume didn't help. The CAT scan showed signs of herniation (Yes, it's another one the spell checker won't touch. See how hopeless I am?) through the bottom of the skull. Your readings were all over the place that day. I signed the orders to keep them from restarting your heart, cuz if you weren't gone already you would be then.
We formed a cheering section to keep you going and told Brad to hurry.
Brad hurried. He got to the hospital late Thursday.
Everybody hung out late and then said their good-byes and went home. I stayed and slept in the chair. Tony got me another chair for my feet and a pillow and blanket. I dozed and watched some movie and watched your vitals dance and the inter-cranial pressure climb to twenty-seven.
You've been in a deep coma with little sign of response since then. I find it hard to believe you're still there. But I hope and I pray to what ever that you'll come back and tell me all about it. Please Deary, come home safe.
Thursday 1/30/03 7:31:39 AM
You lost me early last night, Deary. I fell asleep during 'Are You Being Served'. I've been making sure to leave the TV on channel nine and getting the nurses to leave it there so you can see it every night. If I'm not there to watch it with you, I make sure to sit down and watch it here. I'm always with you in thought and spirit. I'm sitting here now waiting for you to come out of the bedroom for coffee. I wish that was the way it could be. I love you; Deary and I want you to come home, please.
I stayed late Saturday night to watch the movie with you. It was 'Swing Time', 1936, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. I'd never seen it before. I don't think you have either. It screamed thirties, one of those prime examples of its time, good inclusion for the cinema rotation.
Come back dear and we'll refurbish the Avalon.
I cracked all the jokes last Saturday. You didn't even have the courtesy to chuckle, much less take part. Can't tell you how much I want to hear your voice.
I got John, your nurse; I'm surprised at all the guys up there, to laugh with the old one about Ginger Rogers. You know, Ginger was twice the dancer Fred was 'cuz she did everything backwards and in heals. John had never heard that one.
I wish I could remember all the jokes and stories, dear. It's been an experience.
They're doing another CAT scan today and it's looking like tomorrow is the make or break day. People are still saying it's possible that you could sit up and eat breakfast. So, get with the plan, Stan.
I'm gonna be dealing with paperwork again today so I'll be getting there later. Your Mom and Dad are gonna be camped out from the start of visiting hours. There are scads of people praying and thinking good vibes for you.
I've got SSI scheduled for ten-thirty; I've got most of the forms ready. Things are moving along well. So get back here and tell me where the TV antenna hooks up in the basement. The cats pulled it and I can't find it to hook it back up. I don't know what the hell you've done with the computer. You gotta wake up and tell me these things damit. I'll let you go right back to sleep. Just open your eyes and look at me, or something.
I've noticed an interesting thing, something you'd be interested in. All the guys around me just want to hang onto me. I don't mean hang all over me. But when I hug them, all they want to do is hang on. I noticed it first with your Dad last Monday...
Well not last Monday, the week before that. Time is just lost to me, and I still haven't found my watch.
But, the first time he hugged me your Dad didn't want to let go. Jason, Brad, Bob, Mark, and Mike, all the same way, they just want to hold on. The way I always wanted to hold onto you.
You have become an object lesson for many. Bob and Jason have been ordered, over your bed, to get thee to the doctor and clean up thy act. The infectious disease guy, Dr. Chambers stood next to your bed and mused about how he lets his sinus go longer than he should.
I like Chambers; he's cool and very dedicated. I hope his wife isn't too lonely.
They took pictures of the operation and I wanted to see them, I kinda think Brenda did too. He said they weren't very good and then told us about the operation. He said they opened your head and a mass of sickly, yellow pus came out and the neuro-team was all like 'oooh, yeck' and 'it's terrible' and 'it stinks'. Chambers just shrugged and said 'I've seen worse'. So, the pus guy isn't impressed with you.
I still hear how young you are and how that's a point in your favor. Your heart is strong and steady; blood pressure has been on the high side, but not bad. Your vitals have been remarkably good throughout. Your lungs are sounding cleaner. I think you've already beat the smoking. We'll work on the anxiety together, the way we always have.
Just come home, Deary.
The neurosurgeon is a jerk. But he's a neurosurgeon and he's an alien. He just doesn't think the way you and I do. He's wired differently. I can accept jerk from someone who can open your head and attempt to fix things.
And you and I don't think the way others do. You and I both understand alien. Brad's feeling a touch of it in his older age. I know you never felt at home here, were always off somewhere else in your head at least in part. The ideal model for outcome is that you wake up mostly intact with all the OCD burned out. That's what I want more than anything. I know you could handle a physical disability. But I want you to have your head and if you can only write for awhile, well; didn't you want the time to write? Surely, you've got plenty to say now.
I know you never felt you belonged here, neither do I. But, it was easier to be here with you. It wasn't all bad, and it's getting better. I'll take care of everything; you just have to come back.
The clock's ticking, Deary, and I don't want to make this decision. Give me something else to decide...
Thursday 1/30/03 10:16:09 PM
I haven't told you about the song yet.
How could I forget the song?
Remember a few weeks back when we watched 'My Best Friend's Wedding', like twice in the same week?
'The Way You Look Tonight', was a song that figured into the plot, remember? I've always liked that song, but could never remember the title. I heard it a little while later on some other show. Last week when I was driving to the hospital, NPR used a bit as a music bridge between segments. Once last week it was playing when I walked into your room, cuz ABC's using it to advertise 'Alias'. 'The Way You Look Tonight' was one of the major themes of 'Swing Time', our last Saturday movie together. I'm wondering what's up with that.
You didn't look all that great last Saturday.
And how could I forget all the Tele Tubby talk? We were all calling you Tinky Winky, cuz of the thing sticking out of your head.
The vent's gone now.
The CAT scan was a little better, but that ain't good enough news.
The neurosurgeon says that recovery is still possible, after the swelling goes down in three or four weeks.
The neurologist explains that 'recovery' means the difference between extending and flexing your arms and a little pupil response as compared to none.
The least you could've done was brain death. As usual, you had to do a little better than that.
You're not brain dead, you're young, your vitals are good. There's always hope and there've been cases of…
I'm not sending you to a nursing home, I always promised I wouldn't. I'm not putting in a trachea tube. I've already done more than you wanted
And you're not there.
The CAT scan confirms the neurological exams. There's too much damage already. The right temporal lobe is dead, what they call decordian (Well? You gonna tell me how to spell it? The spell checker won't touch it and I can't find it in the medical encyclopedia. I can't ask you when you get up in the morning) posture indicates damage to the part of the brain stem that controls wakefulness.
I knew that you'd never be the same as you were.
But you'll never be you again.
The litany has ceased.
The tide has changed and I have to let you go.
I haven't signed anything yet, so if you want to get up, that's just fine. They're playing 'The Grapes of Wrath' on channel nine Saturday night. I'll stay late and watch it with you, if you ask me to.
But if you're not up by nine tomorrow...
Jeez, Deary how did we get here?
My worst case thoughts were nowhere near here.
Saturday 2/1/03 3:44:02 AM
Oh, Deary, Deary, my Deary.
For the most part, you got the best care possible. They WANTED to get you well.
I'm amazed at how many people wanted you to get well and how much they wanted it. The ER staff kept tabs on your progress. The cute intern kept a close eye on you. All the nurses were wonderful. The staff of the hospital was amazing. I'm glad the fluke took you there even still. You had some of the best doctors in the area and there were many doctors not on your case consulting out of interest. You are famous throughout Forest Park Hospital, 'cuz nobody can believe what happened.
Bailey seemed a bit lost when he talked to me yesterday. He was so happy week ago Tuesday when they could operate. I think he was as relieved as I was to be able to do something, to at least try. Yesterday he was not happy. I get the impression that he's not comfortable dealing with the family end of things. But he's been straight with me and I trust him.
The cute intern, still don't remember his name, was almost in tears when he came in to tell me he wanted the neurologist to do one more exam. He choked up when he said that he wanted you to have every chance. I think he started his rotation in the CCU (You ended up in the cardiac care unit, 'cuz ICU was full when you went in.) the same night you were admitted. His rotation ended today. He came in to say good-bye and said he'd think of your parents when he was on his first year anniversary trip next week. He proposed to his wife at a spot not too far from where your parents live. That's where they are going to spend their anniversary.
Kelly stayed with us through the end and she nearly lost it a couple of times. Kelly is cool. She was your nurse last week for a couple of days and I think she kinda took to us. We all took to her… (Yes, I am thinking Firesign Theater.) John got used to us quick, but I think we scared Shawn. He kept telling us we shouldn't say such things in a hospital room. But, as your sister says, we're a bunch of whack jobs. The laughter ran as freely as the tears with us.
The CCU staff wants to clone us. Evidently, they more often see anger than humor from the grieving family.
I can't find it in me to be angry at the people who cared for you so much. Everybody was sending you good wishes. Everybody wanted you to get well.
But, what is meant to be, is meant to be.
There was just too much damage. What activity there was, was very slow. I could have kept you going, but there's nobody home and there never will be.
Steve has left the building. You exited last Thursday. I just didn't want to believe that.
Dr. Bailey gave you a one in a hundred chance of ever waking up again. I know your history with savings rolls. I don't recall you ever rolling a natural twenty.
I had a slow start today, but this morning I went in and signed your life away.
We tried to get the organ donation lined up, but with the infection, people were leery of accepting.
We did the six hours of testing and you tested clean, but nobody wanted to take the chance.
It was an iffy shot from the start, so don't feel bad.
Since you weren't brain dead, they had to wait for your heart to stop before they could take any organs. If they had used the organs, you would have been intubated (Yes, I know it's wrong. Who's gonna help me with these things now? The spell checker won't.) in the OR so that the recovery team could get started as soon as your heart stopped.
In order for the organs to be useable, your heart had to stop within an hour. The transplant councilor and the doctors were betting you'd last longer than an hour. I was hoping you wouldn't. I was willing to gamble.
But...
Dr. Chambers stopped by to say good-bye and that he really tried to get something lined up. He said that if he had needed a kidney he'd have taken one of yours and not worried. I was surprised. With an A- donor waiting, I figured someone one would take the shot.
Erin asked him about the bow ties. He explained that one of the doctors he respected when he was starting out wore bow ties and that's why he wore them. Then he told us about the best salesmen he'd ever seen. Said that he'd gone into a store to look at ties and was looking over a little pamphlet on how to tie bow ties. The salesman took him aside, and showed him how to tie one then said that it was something that had to be practiced for seven days, and so he walked out of the store with seven ties.
Wish I could hear you laugh.
Your scapula is probably going to Colorado. There's a guy out there with bone cancer in the scapula. They want to remove his and transplant a new one. It's something that's never been tried before. Your scapula is about the right size.
Erin says you're still trying to get in the medical books.
And you may make it yet.
All the medical conferences and meetings you did. The organ donor guy was about the only one who understood what you did for a living when I explained it. He's been to a lot of meetings. He might have been at one you worked. He didn't recognize your picture but it's still possible.
Everyone is impressed with your driver's license picture. It's one of the few good ones anybody's seen. Interesting that you expired shortly after it did.
Everybody was surprised to hear you were adopted. You look so much like your parents and your brother and sister. The pictures are amazing. Kelly told us about the idea of 'same face'. It's a Japanese belief that people of like mind and soul will grow to look alike. You are your parent's son and Brad and Brenda's brother in all ways but one. I'm grateful to them all for that. There was never a malicious bone in you, you were always thoughtful, and respected everyone equally. I was lucky to find you. Thank you for letting me watch while you lived, Deary. You did it with style and intelligence and care and a damn twisted sense of humor. You were a strange and wonderful person.
Oh Deary, what am I gonna do without you?
They did everything they could. It just wasn't meant to be.
Since no one wanted the organs the procedure changed.
We all took some time alone to say good-bye. Rose was late so she got to go last.
I cut some locks of your hair. The nice silver stuff in the front. They shaved one patch at the front right side of your head but the left was still bushy. I wish you had longer hair. You always kept it too short for my liking. I tried to twist a bit and put it in a locket, but your hair won't twist. It's as curly and difficult as always.
Kelly took you off the ventilator in your room. You scared her. We all thought that you'd breathe on your own for a while but you didn't. Kelly was afraid that we wouldn't get back to the room in time, but we did. You took a few shallow breaths and that was it. Twenty minutes later your heart stopped.
Erin won the pool we had going. I had thirty minutes, but I'm glad you disappointed me.
You died at ten after nine, Friday, January 31, 2003.
Your passing was slow, dramatic, humorous, baffling, frustrating, and beautiful. Just like you.
You touched people even when you were unconscious.
Everybody talked about how you made them think how you could change an entire perception with a simple question. I wasn't the only one you challenged and changed. I was far from the only one who loved and respected you. I hope you can see that now. Your parents were never disappointed with you. They knew how hard it was for you. Their regrets were for you, not against you. They wanted you to be happy and they knew you weren't. They've tried to tell you that before. You could just never feel it. I think we can all understand that. Your family loves you, Deary. They were all here with you.
See? I was right about some things.
Erin and Rose love you, they were with you too.
And I love you, Deary.
The agreement was always no strings. Leave when yer ready, no harm, no foul.
You were ready to leave and I have to let you go. I'll be OK, one way, or another. So, don't worry about me.
I've got my lines all worked out:
"I'm a widow."
"Oh, my, I'm so sorry. What happened?"
"My husband blew his brains out with a sinus infection. It was an accidental death. He was mishandling his sinuses and they went off."
Sunday 2/2/03 2:27:38 AM
We stayed by your bedside till the organ donor guy came to take you.
Of course, I didn't want to leave, but what else was there to do?
I've donated what I could and then they'll take tissue for medical research. They'll cremate you and I'll get the ashes back. I'm gonna have to get a jar that's not sealed cause everyone wants a piece of you.
Bob and Brenda are going to plant a new tree just for you. That's the closest we can get to planting you with an acorn in your hand.
You never said what you wanted done with the ashes, so I'll have to think on this one.
You know, I'm just gonna get more peculiar without someone to talk to.
I remember the night our conversation started, over seventeen years ago, sitting on the floor in Ron's bedroom in the basement, the night we stopped hating each other. It was a lovely, stimulating conversation. Oh Deary, there are still so many things I want to tell you. There are so many things I left out of this. There's so much happening in the world. I want to talk it all over with you. I want to hear your voice and your ideas.
But I'm greedy and shortsighted.
Sixteen solid years of sohbet* and I only realize it at the end. Like Shams and Rumi we clung together and talked of many things. We sacrificed and ignored many things for that conversation and I wouldn't change any of that.
I just wish I could clearly remember even half of it.
But it runs in my soul and it surfaces in the writing. Everything we thought and felt is in that conversation and it is a part of me, rooted deep in the sub and half conscious spaces where I spend so much of my time. You always were my best muse. It's always been enough for me to know that you were here somewhere. I know you're still out there somewhere. You'll always be in me. All I've lost is your physical presence. That won't hit real hard till I get the house packed up. For now, I can pretend you're at work or reading or sleeping in the bedroom.
I'm alone for the first time since leaving you. This is the first day in ten years that I haven't seen you.
And I'll never see you again. I'll still talk to you. I've been doing it right along the past two weeks. I've grown accustomed to one sided conversations the past couple of years, and half the time, living with you was like living alone, so half the time I guess I'll be ok.
Erin and Jason were here late and I've not been alone much in the last two weeks. I know it hasn't really sunk in yet. I warned Erin the other night that we were going to go through levels of loosing you. I'm still in the lower levels. You're not here, but I'm still wholly concerned with you. We're arranging a memorial service and all that. I've still got the financial stuff to fuss with and nothing has really changed here yet.
I'm still feeling numb from the enormity of it all.
Unlike fiction, real life often has an unhappy end. I wish I could rewrite this.
Please haunt me, Deary.
* Long, mystical conversation.
Stephen G. Hart
7-10-62 to 1-31-03
I included this on the memorial poster Brenda, Kristen, and I put together.
Ascension
And if I go,
While you're still here…
Know that I live on,
Vibrating to a different measure
Behind a thin veil you cannot see through.
You will not see me,
So you must have faith.
I wait for the time when we can soar together again,
Both aware of each other.
Until then, live your life to its fullest.
And when you need me,
Just whisper my name in you heart,
… I will be there.
Colleen Corah Hitchcock
And if I go,
While you're still here…
Know that I live on,
Vibrating to a different measure
Behind a thin veil you cannot see through.
You will not see me,
So you must have faith.
I wait for the time when we can soar together again,
Both aware of each other.
Until then, live your life to its fullest.
And when you need me,
Just whisper my name in you heart,
… I will be there.
Colleen Corah Hitchcock
You were my nation.
I'm without country as well as kin
Alliances are always thin.
The world's stating to spin.
In erratic rotation
One last kiss
Before you go
One last kiss
You'll never know
All the chances missed
All the dreams dismissed
With one last kiss
I wrote this for Steve in late '96.
For My Deary
Love
Awaken me
Shake me from this dream of tragedy
Sharing with you
I am special
Love
Strengthen me
Stand with me in adversity
Defending with you
I am invincible
Love
Comfort me
Hold me in pain
Enduring with you
I am everlasting
Love
Lighten me
Play with me
Celebrating you
I am happy
Love
Complete me
Be with me
Loving you
I am fulfilled
The very last Picture.
March 27, 2015
My friend gave me a song this morning, and it is so appropriate I'm adding it here....
12 years and I still don't know what I'm doing and I still have to cry, cry, cry...
