not duffy

Enough about Duffy the little white dog.

We've lost seven souls on the unit since February 26th. I'd say seven souls from seven seas to wax poetic and be a little bit like Janis Joplin, but this is serious. Its been a bit heavy, a lot hectic, and they are dropping like flies in August and its only July. And it isn't even like July almost at all. It is rainy rainy rainy, sky pressing down like a flat sweaty hand, clouds as dark as nightfall. I had to turn my headlights on a four o'clock. Its the end of the world.

Oh, they come to die. I don't mean to seem surprised. I'm not. Its just that each life leaves a bit of a vacuum, a space to fill, and they come to fill it. There is a queue like a movie theatre of people who need what I provide: a nice safe place to lose it completely. Heck, I need that.

Anyway, today, Delphinium's daughter came by. She's a world famous musician and can only come once a year, so we had to have the sit-down talk. The end-of-life talk. I had to tell her that, from my point of view, Del probably had a year or less left in her. Now, I don't have a crystal ball, but I've been keeping my eyes open, and I know what the end of this path looks like. I never promise anything -- I've learned my lesson there. But Del's daughter had spoken with another family member, and she told her this story: judybluesky said my mother would die in less than a year, then she said she'd be gone in less than a week, then she said she'd be gone by the end of the day, then she said she had about twenty minutes left and she was right about each one of those things for my mom.

Its wierd what you can get good at.