09/08 1ere semaine/ first week

Semaine passee au Texas, a visiter la maman de Kate, sans doute pour la derniere fois, puisqu'elle mange et boit rarement maintenant. Meme si elle arrive a prolonge un peu sa vie, c'est difficile de voyager avec Florence a cette age, et il y'a peu de chance pour que nous retournions voir ses parents dans un futur proche.

Ce fut l'occasion pour Forence pour revoir ses cousins, ou pour vadrouiller dans de nouvelles aventures, comme marcher dans l'herbe, ce qui evidemment dans le desert ou elle vit, est plutot rare, vu qu'elle ne joue toujours pas au golf...

Dear Mom,

I'm sorry you are dying. 70 is much too young to die. Of course, for me, 70 seems a good way off, but it seems to me that you have not had enough time in your "golden years" to celebrate the rewards of all your toil over the long, long years of working.

And cancer is much, much too evil a way to die, for anyone save for our worst enemies. It is callous, vicous, thoughtless, relentless, and unforgiving. I hate all the celebrities touting their "cure" from cancer. As we both know, there is no "cure" from cancer, just a stay of execution that, should one live long enough, they will see annulled and the cancer return for its final call to the curtain.

So, for this, I am very, very sorry. I mean, after all, why can a woman not simply die from a chocolate bar getting logdged in her arteries, making her heart stop, as she lays next to a naked Sean Connery? Only God can answer such ethereal questions as these.

I ask how you are, but I know. I ask what is new, knowing all too well the answer. And all the while you while away the remaining time in a semi-drug induced haze, half asleep, half aware, wholly wishing for the end of all this - bowing to the greater strength of cancer over man.

Is it strange to die? I would assume it must be, as we only do it once. Is it sad? Lonely? Cold? Do you think of all the hours and days of your life? Deep thoughts? Or silly, odd fleeting ideas of groceries and stuff that really needs to be done around the house.

And how will you greet God? With a happy sigh for your release from this imprisoned body, falling with grace into his arms? Or with a good one-two punch to his nose for letting you down? (I think I would do the one-two, which is probably why he will keep me alive for a long time - he just doesn't want to deal with me. Too much of a pain in the ass.)

And do you think of seeking out your mother, your father? Or of reliving a favorite moment in time?

Truly it doesn't seem fair. Your life has been so very hard, from a young child forced to be parent to your younger brother while your Mom worked long hours over long days back when Moms simply did not do such things, alone 'til all hours, fearful of every sound you could not put a name to. And while pregnant with your first child, working almost until B-day, in the back of your office, as your boss didn't want anyone to see you, for it was gauche, in lieu of the thinking of the time. And while parenting three small children all under the age of three while your husband traveled, having barely enough money to survive on toast and tea so that the babies had enough clothing and food, all while living on the "wrong" side of street.

I wish I could give you satiation, fulfillment, and contentment before you depart, for I cannot imagine dying without these standing steadfast by as dear companions.

And, also, if I could give you another gift it would be to know that the single thing I will most regret with your early departure is that Florence will have never known you. Yes, she has met you, but she will never, ever know you. And this saddens me more than anything as I am certain that, should you have lived long enough, you would be the very best, most dear of friends.

I can imagine you taking her out to the stores, to comb for bargains. Or you would sweep her off to an early lunch to discuss her latest love interest. Is it serious? Is he a good man? Tell me how you met.... And you would willingly go to her must-see movies, tolerating modern remakes of your own old favorites. And, in kind, you would introduce her to the world of black and white movies, making sure she realizes where the true greats in movies and acting come from - Tracey, Hepburn, Colbert, Gable, Grant, Wayne, etc. etc. etc. And don't forget our favorite movies or cheesy old TV shows, which we used to watch for hours on end on Sunday afternoons - Charlie Chan, the Bowery Boys, Bringing Up Baby, Arsenic and Old Lace, Adam's Rib, and Desk Set.

And, too, you would introduce her into the grand world of chocolate, and cakes, and puddings, and cookies, and pies, and any other such goodie that it distinctly on the "no no" list, the exact reason it begs our "yes yes" love affair.

And perhaps, too, you would be there to help her understand her mother during those teenage times when I seem to frustrate her so, from her perspective seeming to not understand her at all.

So it is this which will be my biggest regret and the first thing that I will bring up to God upon our meeting, demanding a full explanation save for him being permanently on my shit list.

Do not go gentle into that goodnight. This I say this eve of September 7th in the year 2008. Though I will wish you sweet passage, via a softly exhaled sigh ending in a soft smile and tranquil visage with which you greet the other side. Though, truth be known, I still say do not go gentle into the goodnight. Find the out clause of the kobayashi maru, the missing key, the unfound solution. Find the magic elixor which will grant you time.

For, truth be known, although I will cry for the loss of what will never have been for my daugther, to have known her grandmother, I will scream for what I, in full knowledge, will have lost with your passing, knowing full well that there will never be day nor an hour which will not have your presence known, like a shadow from the tree from whence I sprange circling around me no matter where, or in what direction, I will roam.

So, I say again, do not go gentle into that goodnight. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. I know I can do this life without you. But it is the fear that I will not do it as well.

Love, your daughter.