Sometime after 3am..............................

The night was proceeding as planned. I was going to pick up Tunk, and head to the club. Before that I was going to stop by the hospice center for a brief visit with Mrs. Shropshire, and any family members that might be there. There's usually always someone visiting.

It was still raining, and I was bitching to myself because I was tired and didn't want to drive down to Asbury. It was sometime after eight when I arrived at the center. I found the front door locked. I called Mrs. Shropshire's daughter Amy to see if she knew how I could get inside, but couldn't reach her. Fortunately a staff member saw me and let me in.

I made my way to Mrs. Shropshire's room. No one was with her. I figured I'd visit with her for a while and then go and pick up Tunk who didn't live far from there. Earlier that day, Amy had left a message for me, updating me on her mothers condition. She didn't sound good, so I wanted to make sure I got to visit.

Mrs. Shropshire looked bad. This wasn't the sweet, funny, vibrent woman I knew. Her eyes were partially closed and barely showing any pupils. I called Tunk to see if he could give me a little more time to visit, which he was fine with. As time passed, her breathing seemed to become more labored. I thought about the night my mother died. Although my brother Jon was with her, I wasn't. I've never been able to fully forgive myself for not being there with her. Yes. I know it's selfish.

As it got closer to the time I was supposed to pick up Tunk, I realized I couldn't leave her alone. I felt bad for having to ditch Tunk, but I knew I should stay. I didn't want to. I didn't want to see her like that. I wanted to be anywhere else. I called Tunk to tell him. I think he understood. I hope he did.

I sat with her in the dark, although the room was somewhat illuminated by a light from the bathroom. I held her hand. It was surprisingly warm. I didn't know what else to do. Although she was barely responsive, in my heart I knew she was aware I was with her. Her eyelids would occasionally open a bit, and she seemed to look at me once in a while. I told her how much I loved her, and thanked her for all she had done for me, my family, and especially for Sally, my mother. Mrs. Shropshire was always there for my mom. She was also there for me, especially during one particularly difficult time in my life. My mother was an only child, and Mrs. Shropshire became like a sister to her. I'm very grateful for that. My mother had a good, but difficult life. I know Mrs. Shropshire made it more bearable for her.

As I sat with her, Mrs. Shropshire seemed to be getting worse. I felt so helpless. I kept talking to her. Letting her know I was there. I couldn't think of any other way to comfort her. I spoke of memories I had about her and Sally. They were always working some angle. They used to plot and scheme about stuff they could make and sell. In particular, I can recall their famous, (or infamous) "nut wreaths". For a few years these were a traditional holiday perennial. They would cut wood into circle shapes, and then glue many different kinds of nuts to the wood. They would then cover the whole thing in a coating of shellac. Being a kid, I never really understood the appeal of those things. I think they actually sold a few. Perhaps they used the unsold wreaths to play ring toss. It's kinda odd that that particular memory of them, stands out from all the others.

Mrs. Shropshire's breathing continued to become more labored. She began to make sounds I didn't want to hear. I became anxious. It seemed all I could do was keep reminding her I was there. I would hold her hand, and gently caress her cheek. I would kiss her forehead. I would speak of Sally. Anything I could think of to calm her. I would cry. I would try to smile, something I've never really been good at. I told her not to be afraid. I was. I think I said it for myself.

Every so often the staff would check on her, giving her meds that were supposed to make her more comfortable. I hope they did. Occasionally they would ask me to step outside so they could clean her, etc. I understood this, but it made me angry when they would turn on the light. It seemed so abrupt. When I'd return to the room, she would seem agitated and would be breathing louder. I know they were just doing their jobs, which I'm sure is difficult. It just made me so angry. I felt like they were intruding.

I sat and waited. What was I waiting for? For her to die? I desperately wanted someone, anyone, to show up so I could run away. I felt incredibly torn. I didn't want her to suffer. I didn't want her to die alone, but I really just wanted to leave. I felt so selfish. It was sometime after three when I decided to go. I prayed that she would calm down. That she would be at peace, and that someone would show up to be with her. Outside the rain had stopped. I got in my car and drove home. I hated myself.

I awoke at about eight thirty am, but lay in bed until about nine. My head hurt. I felt like I was run over by a bus. I knew I had to call to find out how Mrs. Shropshire was, although in my heart I pretty much knew the news I would receive. I called Amy, who answered the phone. I could tell she'd been crying. I told her how sorry I was. I offered any kind of help or comfort, like anyone else would, but I felt like I fucked up! It was my mother all over again. I was angry and sad at the same time.

I came to work to type this because my crappy msntv system doesn't work as well. I'm feeling sad, but not as angry. I feel empty. Numb. I feel Alone. Mrs. Shropshire, to me, was truly my last living link to my mother. I don't like this getting older shit. It seems that death becomes too frequent. I realize we all die and that's really the only thing humanity shares. No matter where you live. Whether your famous or not. Rich or poor. Your race. Your beliefs. It happens to everybody.

I called my boss and asked for the the week off. Initially he gave me some shit which really pissed me off, but I know that's just how he is. He's not a bad guy. I think he just has a little trouble with empathy and sympathy. He became a bit more understanding before I hung up. I'm pretty sure he'll give me the week.

I know this isn't about me. It's about Mrs. Shropshire. It's about her Husband Joe, and the rest of her family that are suffering through an incredible loss. It's very difficult to lose a mother. That's where we come from. We wouldn't exist if not for them. I miss my mom. I'll miss Mrs. Shropshire very much.

If your mom is still alive, and you have even a half way decent relationship, call or visit. Tell her you love her. You'll never know when you'll get another chance.

I think writing this all down is probably one of those therapy things. Perhaps Like a letter never mailed. I'm sorry if this seemed too detailed or mellow dramatic. It's just what I wanted to do and how I wanted to do it. I think she'll eventually be interred at the cemetery where I reside in the gatehouse. I hope so. We'll watch over each other.

Mrs. Shropshire, when you see Sally, tell her I love her, and give her a big hug and gentle kiss for me. Farewell for now. I'll see you again someday. Wait for me.