t-bone's dying.

gob said it, and now i say it, but i have such a hard hard time writing those words. maybe it's a maturity thing, maybe its n inability to realize other people’s mortality because it will make me realize my own. or maybe it's just too freakin' blah to give words to.

every time someone relatively near me has cancer, i revert back into my grandma dying mode.

we knew she was dying. we all knew. i knew. the entire summer. spent and entire summer with her knowing. but i don't know, cannot remember ever consciously thinking it, never mind consciously uttering it. to utter something, to say something like that "someone is dying" is a fairly unconscious turn. i mean you don't think about it, you just say it. it just comes out. but it can't come out. the moment it comes out it's conscious and you know and you're hiding downstairs in the basement with your cup of early grey crying through the best poetry you've ever written...

i spent all summer watching her die. we spent 2 nights watching her fade, the three great aunts holding vigil by her bedside day and night and night and day, talking and laughing and words filled with sequined shoes, big band music, and boys.

i used to go into her room, when she was too sick to get out of bed, feed her beets, and she'd ask me to put on the big band station and tell me every story of every place she was and with whom, and and and

to this day...big band music makes me sappy.

i don't know what the point of this post is. i don't know if it has one. i do know...love is watching someone die.

Mors ultima linea rerum est