By Friday morning, Aged Mother really couldn’t talk anymore. She was eating very little. Sarah and I were needing to feed her water and liquid foods by spoon.

By Friday evening, she was having a hard time taking in water and really couldn’t take food. Swallowing was a problem. Her breathing was shallow. I came home from work at about five o’clock. Nizzibet went to meet the Gamester. I fixed myself a drink. A little one. The last few weeks I’d been regularly drinking to excess. I had no intention of doing that that night. Your mother only dies once.

Once I’d determined that Mom wouldn’t be having dinner I sat and held her hand. I got halfway through my drink and started to thank her – for raising my brother and I, for teaching us how to save and make do, for teaching us to read, for teaching us fairness and compassion, for letting us run wild, for letting us read whatever we wanted, for letting us dig that hole in the yard, for taking us camping … I thanked her for everything I could think of. She was in no condition to tell me that I didn’t need to tell her those things.

I reminded her that LoveSettlement would be coming in for a visit the next morning. I stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. I’d made it a habit to kiss her whenever I saw her, even if I was just crossing the room.

Nizzibet and the Gamester came home. G and I chatted about movies and games and what projects we were working on next. Once he headed off I ordered pizza. Aged Mother fell asleep sometime around seven o’clock.

Nizzibet and I ate pizza and watched A Fistful of Dollars.

A.M. was still sleeping when the Man With No Name finished killing most of the town.

For the past week I’d carried A.M. from her place on the couch into her bedroom and tucked her in for the night. She really didn’t enjoy being carried. She seemed to think I’d drop her. Friday night I decided to let her keep sleeping on her couch. Nizzibet and I would sleep on the other couch and keep A.M. company.

I woke at about three o’clock in morning on Saturday, August 1st. I looked at A.M. for a long time. Trying to see if she was breathing. There have been so many times when her breathing would pause while she slept – pause for what would seem like an absurd length of time. This time, her breathing did not restart. She was gone.

Helen Irene Ingersoll 11/9/21 – 8/1/04

Rest in Peace

“You see this goblet?” asks Achaan Chaa, the Thai meditation master. “For me this glass is already broken. I enjoy it; I drink out of it. It holds my water admirably, sometimes even reflecting the sun in beautiful patterns. If I should tap it, it has a lovely ring to it. But when I put this glass on the shelf and the wind knocks it over or my elbow brushes it off the table and it falls to the ground and shatters, I say, ‘Of course.’ When I understand that the glass is already broken, every moment with it is precious.”

– Mark Epstein

Thoughts Without a Thinker

Aged Mother can no longer feed herself. Clearly spoken words are rare. A sentence is like a polar bear in Antarctica. I carry her from her bed to the couch in the morning and back again at bedtime. She eats little. Mainly liquids. Only a few spoonfuls at a time. Swallowing is difficult. Her breathing is labored.

Esteemed Brother will be here tomorrow. Leaving again Monday.

Aged Mother now finds standing to be a problem. Her legs often forget that they are supposed to keep her upright. Her body and balance have a poor relationship.

I can talk to her and she seems to understand what I say, as long as I speak slowly and loudly enough. She’s not good for any response that requires more than three words. She’ll talk but what she says makes little sense. She doesn’t use names to describe anyone she’s speaking of.

Mostly she sleeps.

I was headed for the bank. Every afternoon, if we were lucky enough to get any payments, I make a deposit at B of A. I was passing La Tienda, an indigenous people’s art/craft store. Like all the other businesses in Ballard they had wares out as part of this weekend’s upcoming Seafood Fest.I heard a baby fuss. I always check out babies fussing. Babies are like cats. I like all of them. I want to know what’s going on.

And there she was. The last time I’d seen her (in person) was when Rae and I passed through Seattle back in 1993. I doubt I left much of an impression then. Rae and I were busy breaking up at the time though we (or maybe just I) didn’t know it yet.

Alaine and I met in 1983 on an AYH tour of Europe. We were Ellen, Alaine, Perry Ann, Jane, Debbie, Charles, Roy (our leader) and me. Strangers (except for Perry Ann and Jane) on a bicycle tour of Europe.

I saw her briefly again in 1984 during my East Coast Avoidance. She offered to help me get established in Maryland. Being an idiot, I didn’t take her up on it.

I vaguely kept in contact until 1993. Gave up after that. Keeping in contact anyway.

Thing is – I’d told her that I loved her. Not – “I’m in love with you” – though perhaps I said that in a letter. I have a vague memory of that. I’d said I loved her. That’s a commitment from me. If I tell you I love you I’ll stalk you for the rest of your life.

So I’ve known where Alaine is for a while now. I was able to recognize her from her photo on the Birth and Family Clinic’s website. She’s changed a bit since ’93.

Except for driving all over Edmonds until I found her clinic (back in 2000, I think) and sending her an invitation to the Seattle Wedding I haven’t tried to cantact her. In ’93 she’d talked about how unusual it was to be friends with someone for a decade when there’d been little contact between the two friends. Given remark and that I’d thought I made a poor impression on her then, I pretty much left her alone.

But I’d signed my letters “Love David” so I couldn’t just forget about her. When I got internet access (and understood how to use search engines) I looked her up. Because “Love” is a commitment. “Love” means a lot of things. First and foremost it means “I will not forget you”. I know how to find everyone I’ve ever said “I love you” to.

Beyond that, “Love” means that I’ll watch out for you. At least, I’ll try to. I fail at this far more than I’d like. But watching out for someone means watching over them. To watch over someone you’ve got to know where they are. Or at least where to start looking.

So I’ve known where to start looking for Alaine for years.

And there she was at La Tienda with her baby daughter fussing in her baby carrier. I looked at her a few times until the Regret Factor set in. The Regret Factor says that I will regret any signifigant action untaken. I knew that if I didn’t say “hello” to this person that I thought was Alaine I would regret it.

So I asked “Alaine?” And she looked up.

I know we shook hands. I think we hugged. I can’t friggin’ remember. It’s all a blur at that point. She introduces her baby. She says she’s got a three year old. She asks where I’m living, what I’m doing. I tell her about The House, Aged Mother and CreativeTechs. Briefly. She says “Wow” a lot. I don’t know what that means. Is she amazed? Pleased?

Then I tell her that I’ve got errands to run and I say goodbye. I walk away.

I love Alaine. I will always love Alaine. And her life is her own. I’ll always try to know where she is. Just in case. But I have no illusions that she thinks of me when she’s lonely. Or thinks of me at all. I have no idea what she thinks about.

I’ve made a commitment. I’ll do a lousy job of fulfilling it. And I’ll never forget it.

Via Nick Brownlow

On the label of Wired Energy Drink –

Warning: Do not consume more than two servings per sitting.

Under the Nutritional Facts we are told that a serving is 8 fluid ounces.

There are 20 fluid ounces in the bottle.

Do the math.

The hell?

I really want to kill something. Well, someone. You kill an animal you eat it. I just want to go on a rampage with knives and forks and clubs and high powered weapons.

Sigh.

Not going to happen. Got too much to do.

Doesn’t mean I’m feeling any more cheerful.

So here I am. Drunk. Again.

You’d think I’d have a system for managing this by now. I’ve got a system for almost everything else. This drinking thing … no perameters … no limitations. I drink (alcohol) I get drunk. That’s the process. That’s the desire and the result.

Aged Mother is snoring. When she wakes up I’ll feed her avocadoes. She likes them. They are different from the noodles and tofu that generally makes up her dinner.

I’ve called Fuzzball and the Brazillian. Later I’ll call the Lone Ranger. Right now I’m too … out of it … to talk about how out of it I am. Nizzibet will no doubt be upset at me. Yay! ‘Cause if you can’t be upset at your mate for getting wasted when he’s promised to stay sober, who the hell can you get upset at? Stupid alocoholic spouses….

Nizzibet drops me off two hours before my flight. She’s exhausted from her new client work and needs to get back home and get some sleep. I expect to spend a lot of time reading at my gate. Instead I spend over an hour getting through security. There’s only one station open in this section of the airport and there are at least a hundred people ahead of me.

Flying into Detroit at four in the morning – I can’t find the city. It seems like there would be big blocks of lights. Buildings. Roads. Maybe it’s where I’m sitting on the plane. I never see anything that looks like a big city. There are relatively small constellations that pass beneath the plane, evidence of civilization but not metropolis.

The Detroit airport is huge. My connecting flight is at the other end of an endless terminal. You could film a car chase inside the building.

The Memphis airport smells of barbeque. It’s 6:30 in the morning. I wish I were hungry. I eat a cajun chicken burrito because I figure that should have something to eat. I don’t know what will be available when I get to Mississippi.

Stephen and Miss Iris pick me up in Gulfport. Stephen drives with an open beer tucked in his lap. He’ll go through at least three of them over the next 45 minutes. Bud Lite. Iris fixes me a Bloody Mary with spicy V8. It’s rather lighter on the vodka than I would have fixed myself. Probably a good thing. I have two of them on the drive.

It’s nature that tells me I’m on another part of the continent. Five minutes from Gulfport we pass a fresh armadillo corpse in the middle of the road. Stephen tells me he once saw an alligator nab a seagull in one of the swamps that we pass on the road.

Miss Iris and I discuss Alzheimer’s disease. Her mother has recently been diagnosed with it. I tell her about living with Aged Mother.

We arrive at Miss Betty’s. Miss Betty is Staci’s mother. Technically she’d be Staci’s stepmother but Staci was never one to stand on technicalities. Argue about them perhaps – but only for the fun of it.

We have gumbo that Staci made for last night’s rehearsal dinner. It’s pleasantly spicy. The flavor isn’t hidden by the heat.

I help a little with set-up by bringing food over from an aunt’s down the road. Miss Iris drives me and Crista over in Steven’s golf cart.

A brief thunderstorm dropped more wet onto the already soaking lawns and ponds.

I meet Charlie the groom. I meet Scott and Crista, Staci’s other brother and his wife.

Staci arrives from her hair dresser. She’s tanned and happy. We talk. We drink and smoke. She opens the wedding present I brought. A video of Belizaire the Cajun. A pair of earrings. A CD of Laura Love. A bottle of Tequila.* She grabs me and we head to the church.

I spend the next hour or so with the bride and her bride’s maids. Many cigarettes are smoked. Debbie drops in asking if I remember her.

The wedding goes off smoothly. Staci is given away by her brothers. Charlie’s daughters are the flower girls. Steven’s son is one of the ring bearers. I don’t get any pictures of the wedding ceremony because I’d dropped the camera earlier and it takes me until the ceremony is over to realize that a part has popped of the camera so it’s not getting a charge from the batteries. The minister tells Staci that she’s the happiest bride he’s ever seen.

I find the camera part and get the camera working again.

The reception is at Miss Betty’s. I work my way through another whiskey and coke. Things get fuzzy.

I don’t actually remember drinking the Tequila. I remember Staci telling me to go find it after she and I shared a dance.

Miss Iris tells me she’ll send me a CD of the photos she took. Until then, I’ve got these.

*Nick sent me the Tequila unannounced. It arrived the night I left. It seemed a perfect thing to take with me. Staci and I have had many good times with Mr. T. Thanks Nick!

I’ve spent the last few days creating a wishlist over at Amazon. It’s ridiculusly huge. No doubt it will grow exponentially. With our current finances I haven’t been buying much other than sale videos at Rain City. Yet I continue to lust for possessions. So making the list takes care of the longing a bit.