I wonder what it is like to be near the end of one's life. Some cultures believe that as a person nears death, one gains a deeper, more meaningful understanding of the universe. Tibetans see death as more of a continuation in the cycle of life. People recounting near death experiences tell tales of bright lights, lost relatives, or floating high above their own bodies.
What about a man lying in a hospital bed, delirious from medications he cannot pronounce, prescribed by a doctor he has never met, administered by a nurse who doesn't know his name? Have they stripped him of the last great experience of his
life? Would he even know?
I don't think my father would know. He has been a coward all his life. He is lying in a hospital bed right now, dying. The cancer has destroyed his bones, there is too much calcium in his blood, and his white blood cell count is uncountable. The doctors say that he will be dead by Saturday.
I (and this is all about me, never forget that) cannot tell if I care. Should I care? He's just another dying bastard lying alone in a hospital room. Maybe I just can't deal with the situation and don't want to care. If I don't care, I don't have to go visit him and say good bye. His crazy sisters seem to care. One of them (Roberta, the really crazy one) called me today to let me know. I suppose that's nice of her. Maybe she thinks I'll give a damn and go say good bye to him before he expires.
I don't think I will. I really don't care.
When I was much younger I would dream of the day he died. I used to think about how wonderful it would be for him to just dissapear and never return. When I was seventeen, he moved out. I got my wish. Ten years later, I got a call from his crazy sister. I went to see him, but I didn't care. No pity, no sorrow, no remorse for the last ten years without him.
There won't be a party when he dies. I'm not going to celebrate. I don't even care enough to do that. He is not a part of my life anymore.
So why do I feel wierd about the entire thing?
Comments (1)
Tonight, I walked past a guy who was begging for spare change and girl asking if I could spare her a ticket on the skytrain.
The guy was a good actor. He had the shtick down perfectly. He even took off his touque. "I'm really sorry to bother you. Could you spare a little bit of change". The sincerity in his voice was exceptionally well crafted. I felt it. He played me like a violin.
The girl. She wasn't directly asking for money. She was asking for tickets. She was more subtle
Both were far pushier than typical beggers.
I walked past and gave them my usual lines. I don't have any change (which I did). I'm sorry but I can't help (I could give them money but I don't know if that's help).
I got to the top of the platform and I got on the train that had just arrived.
Something made me get off at the next platform. I waited for the train going the other way. I got on that train and went back to where I came from and walked down the steps.
The guy had already talked someone else into giving him a ticket. The girl was there. She didn't even recognise me from the minutes turn around that I .
She asked me if I still needed my ticket. I told her I would buy her one. I did. I walked up the stairs and went home.
My guess is that she went down stairs again after I left and attempted to sell the ticket I just bought her for less than I had paid for it. She'll use the money. Maybe for smokes. Possibly food. Perhaps begging is idle entertainment for some rich girl with nothing else to do but sucker people out of money.
You know what? It doesn't bother me.
Posted by Majeric | November 12, 2003 1:17 AM
Posted on November 12, 2003 01:17