What Do You Think Is Happening Here?

What Do You Think Is Happening Here… You keep asking the same questions.. will he be conscious, you know, up again? Will he eat again.. Who is supposed to tell him he can’t have any more water.. he is always thirsty.. is he no longer thirsty… can he hear us.. can he hear me… of course there is a question you don’t ask.. at least not yet… how will he die.. how exactly.. details please.. all of them..
A friend of mine told me this fucked up story that involved someone asking someone else if they knew what was happening regarding a relative who was dying.. of course the person knew cause they could see it up close.. right.. at least that is what i thought at the time.. i thought this is one fucked up story that makes no fucking sense.. who knows better than the person seeing it up close.. right.. but now i get it.. the people up close know everything they see and hardly anything they don’t want to see.. i can see him sleeping kind of.. but i dont want to see him drowning inside his own body.. i dont want to see his rage beneath his eyes.. i dont want to see his body tightening up.. his breathing fading away.. i know he is dying.. it is 3 in the morning and i am alone with my dad and he is dying.. most of all i dont want to see that…

I have family in Trinidad.. dad’s family.. and we speak all the time.. i just spoke to them before i went to bed.. and they will call me tomorrow again..  i have another aunt who lives nearby and she is here all the time but last night she went home because it made ssnse for her to go and get some rest.. she is always here taking care of my dad and also of me..  and last night she needed to go and rest and get ready for what is coming.. it made sense for her to go the same way it made sense for me to stay.. i live too far to go and rest someplace else.. so i rest here.. witht the nurses and my dad.. and all my stupid questions..

I ask again.. same questions to a different nurse.. will he eat again.. no.. will he be more conscious than this again.. no.. “If he eats or drinks, he will choke.. so right now, we are doing everything to make him comfortable.  What about you.. is there anything you need?”

I need some food right now.. comfort food please.. my aunt keeps making amazing Jamaican food for me the same way she was making food for dad just afew days ago when he could still eat.. stewed peas.. oxtails.. red pea soup.. etc.  That is really all i want to eat now..  i want to live as if i am a kid again and that means Jamaican food and family and even some music would be nice.. i want to hear my uncle’s laughter .. my mom’s singing.. i want to smell my grandmother’s cooking.. smell my grandfather’s pipes.. i want my cousin Duncan to teach me how to throw a punch again.. i want to run upstairs to my aunt Gemmy’s apartment for my second breakfast, my american breakfast of bacon and eggs with ketchup.. i want to hear my crazy auntie from Switzerland come and tell me stories that start in English turn to French and end up in German.. often times in the course of one sentence…

I want my Aunt Patsy from Trinidad to come and say it will be okay even though she knows it won’t and my cousin Troy with his Trini accent telling me He knows its hard man.. real real hard..

I want my dad to wake up and ask me about the Yankees again.. it is his team same way Manchester is mine.. i want him to ask me if I ate same way he does.. did.. every time I came to see him… i want his cooking most of all.. i want .. i want..

I am tired and this probably is making no fucking sense… it is 3 in the morning.. and i can hear my friend’s voice as she tells me the story of another friend of hers who was asked.. sort of as a wake up call or a reality check or just a way to shake her or slap her or bring  her to the fore.. You know what is happening here.. this person who you love is dying.. your mother is dying.. your father is dying.. your loved one is dying.. And i would say.. Yeah this morning i known what the fuck is happening.. i really do

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