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Got a call from my unindited co-conspirator Scot Yonan yesterday that's still with me. Scot had heard that a former colleague and co-worker of ours was hospitalized and dying of cancer. Naturally, Scot immediately called him up. This guy's on his last legs. And Scot told him … whatever you tell someone who is busy dying.

But what can you say, really? We all go there in the end. We watch others go before us. The big mystery, the inspiration of mythologies and world religions, the end. Death is a mother.

And this is all a long-winded way of saying I'm gutless, and I know I won't call the hospital. I can't make it any better, and I'm not strong enough to just bully my way through. I'm a good acquaintance of Paul's (there, at least I can type a name). He has always been a man with a friendly word, relentlessly optimistic, recently married. About my age, maybe 35 or so. A man I'd always assumed I'd be saying "Hi" to for many years to come at gaming shows and so on. I'll miss him. But I won't call.

And I keep having to write the past tense out of this post. Damn.


( 2 sutras — Your wisdom )
Jan. 31st, 2003 10:51 pm (UTC)
Gutless As Well
I know the feeling. My grandmother has Parkinson's, and its in the really late stages. In fact, I was told that her lifespan was weeks about 3 years ago. So, at that time, I came to terms with it, mourned her impending loss, and tried to work through what was to be the first death of a close family member I have had to deal with as an adult. But like I said, that was three years ago, at least.
I've barely visited since then, with only two visits in the last year and a half. I hate going there, because it tears off the scab, reopening wounds I've dealt with already, and to be honest, the person there is but a shell of the vibrant woman I knew as my Grandmother. At this point, it is a duty, and not one I relish. For her sake, I hope she gives up the fight, because she isn't living a pleasant life in any way, shape, manner, or form. For her sake, I hope the pain ends soon, not because I want her gone, but because she already is, and living as she is isn't living at all.
Feb. 6th, 2003 09:46 pm (UTC)
Damn indeed, Wolf
Damn indeed. We should form a club. I've been thinking the same thing ever since I heard about Paul. I last saw him at Gen Con, before he was even diagnosed. Same old, "Every day is Christmas" Paul. Working on games, helping to sell games, brightening the hall wherever he went (even from behind his mirrorshades). His smile could (can?) do that. Then, this Spring, I found out he was in the hospital. Terminally so. There is nothing I can say. Nothing I can do. Gutless, indeed, about the whole situation. It's hard to hear that he's turned for the worse, even. They had thought that he might have even as much as a year or two to go, the best that could be expected for his kind of cancer. I figured, if anyone could pull it off, it would be Paul, and that I'd see him at Origins or Gen Con or maybe even the GAMA Trade Show. And I wouldn't have to feel so damn gutless.

( 2 sutras — Your wisdom )

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