Watching My Friend Die

I
The crowd is thinning as our peers exit the party.
Each year, the number of
departed souls grows exponentially,
and so does the awareness
that our group has been here for quite a while
and our own curfews are fast approaching.
The fact is sobering and we can’t ignore it anymore:
it won’t be long before Death —
that ancient and typically unwelcome guest —
will tap each of us on the shoulder
and tell us it’s our time to leave.
There had been whispers that you’d be going soon.
Doctors finally said a handful of weeks,
but their estimate turned out to be generous.
In the early morning hours just a few days later,
you slipped out in silence when no one was looking.

II
You and I met when we were
paired at the factory.
They put us on line number five,
Seventh Circle of Hell –
too hot, too fast, prone to mechanical hiccups.
I was the new girl and you had to help me.
We eyed each other suspiciously
before setting ourselves to work.
I made glorious mistakes and
repeatedly shut the machines down.
Red-faced and eyes rolling, you’d fix each problem
and mutter a few words under your breath.
You thought I was daft, and I felt you were harsh.
For several weeks, we did our time together
and only spoke when we absolutely had to.
Then one day, I leaned across the table
and offered you a Jolly Rancher.
Your excitement gave you away in an instant.
I had discovered your weakness
and a way to make a connection:
you love candy.

III
I come to visit you in the hospital again,
and on this occasion, I bring saltwater taffy.
You proceed to sample one of each color
with childish delight as I settle in next to your bed.
For over fifteen years, we’ve discussed every topic
from the trivial to the profound.
Today, the talk is small,
but we both know what’s really being said.
“Is it still hot outside?” is code for:
Don’t be sad. I’ve made peace with my death.
“Yes, but it might rain later” means:
I’ll miss you. I don’t know how to let you go.
While millions of people wear ribbons
and blather on about a race for the cure,
the villainous cells in your body
are racing the rise and fall of the sun —
and they are winning.
I am watching you die in slow motion
and you are telling jokes to break the tension.
I laugh for your benefit, but I want to scream.
I am furious at my uselessness
and the absurdity of it all.

IV
The pairing was made permanent
and number five became our home.
We lived there 12 hours a day
almost every day of every month,
year after year after year.
We both snuck in the contraband.
Sour or sweet, chewy or hard,
each piece of candy laid the path to deeper friendship.
We slowly learned the facts and feelings of each other.
Both of us were single mothers
who had made our own way in this life.
We had loved passionately and completely,
only to be forcibly separated
from several men we had cared for –
either by death or because of their inner demons.
It was our lot to handle
every bill, every chore, and every hardship
the same way we went to bed each night – alone.
Still, we agreed that this path was better
than a life of physical or financial ease
spent with the wrong person.
We soldiered on every day, knowing our worth
and loving our hard-earned freedom.
People often thought us cold,
but we simply had nothing false within us.
We didn’t tolerate rudeness or injustice,
nor would we put on a show or offer any fluff,
and if we did offer a compliment or smile,
one could know that it actually meant something.
We were both wildly curious
about spirituality and the unknown,
we each possessed a wicked sense of humor,
and we were truly grateful for everything –
most of all, for our amazing children.
We had these things in common.
All this, and our never-ending love of sugar.

V
You didn’t wish to be the point of focus,
not even when you knew the end was near.
There were no melodramatic messages
or shocking posts on social media
in a bid for pity or attention.
You were never one to imitate
brightly colored blooms
or tree leaves that flap about
begging for the eyes or the heartstrings.
Always graceful and modest,
you resonated instead with the roots —
braving the darkness,
doing your difficult work and good deeds in secret,
providing support and nourishment
for all that flourished as a result of your existence,
always digging ever deeper
to form the great anchor.

VI
We’re in yet another hospital room
and it’s the last time I will see you alive,
though I don’t know that yet.
We’ve told our jokes and reminisced,
and I’ve caught you up on work-related news.
It’s getting late and I know you are tired,
so I tell you I should probably head home.
I stand up and say, “I love you.”
As I say it, I make it a point to maintain eye contact
for longer than I normally would.
This kind of intimacy is hard for someone
as used up and broken as I am,
and it feels like I’m wearing
an itchy sweater that I need to take off,
but I wear it.
I bend down and hug you.
Holding you close,
I can feel the tubes under your hospital gown
and hear the steady hiss of oxygen
being delivered to your nostrils.
I hold on for an extra moment
because I need you to know
how much you mean to me.
I keep holding on because I need you to feel
all the things that words cannot express.
This is the only thing I know to do.
This is how I walk to the edge of the plank with you.

VII
I won’t pretend to know where you are now.
I can’t even get a grip on this lifetime,
let alone understand another.
Just for a moment, allow me to believe
that the next world we inhabit will be
whatever magical place we envision.
As I drift off to sleep beneath
the dream catcher you gave me,
I imagine our reunion at a grand afterparty
on a soft, sandy beach beneath a starlit sky.
As I make my way along the ocean’s edge,
I’ll meander through a maze of
tiki torches, sandcastles, beach blankets, and bonfires.
And then, I’ll hear it —
your loud and mischievous voice,
restored to its full, pre-cancer power.
I’ll follow the sound
and find you at the refreshment table,
your arm buried elbow-deep in a giant bowl of candy.
I’ll pour us some coffee and pull up two chairs.
With all the time in the universe and nowhere else to be,
we’ll laugh about how we finally escaped number five
and marvel at the fact that something better
really had been waiting for us all along.
— Jenn Howe, 2018

Thank you, Tanya.  I love you.