No one wants to talk about death because it's a downer of a subject, understandably. So, whenever the issue of death comes up, you're never quite prepared to deal with it, and so you're making snap decisions on grave matters, and you never know if you're doing the right thing. That extends to somewhat arcane issues, like spending sufficient time at his side.
When I first saw uncle New Year's Night, I assumed the health center had visiting hours. Like the nursing home that Grandmother was thrown in, no visitors were allowed after 9. That helped shape the amount of time I was going to be there. After my aunt and cousin dropped by to break the news, I gave myself time to do stuff at home, like I planned to, like masturbate. So when I left the house, I thought I would be there, like, half an hour before I would have to go.
Is that enough? I don't know. But I gave myself slack because this important news came suddenly. If I needed to give my uncle more time, I hoped that I would have time in successive visits. But I don't think I could've just given him hours. Maybe that makes me an asshole. I probably am. But I just couldn't take it.
When I got there, a man with his back turned toward me was sitting on the floor mat next to my bedridden uncle, playing what is called a Hang, a hollow shell that I thought was a musical instrument native to Tibet, which I assume is my uncle's ancestry (he married my aunt, who is Father's sister), but actually was made in Germany only in 2000. Either my uncle had said he liked hearing this, or the person on the floor needed to do that as a way of helping him.
At any rate, once he got up, I realized it was my uncle's son, my cousin, someone I played with and looked up to a long, long time ago. Him, his little brother, my big brother and I used to hang out all the time. Man, I hadn't seen this guy in at least two decades, probably longer. He's not as big as I remembered him, which was all the way back when I was in my single digits and I literally looked up to him. In fact, I think I'm taller than him. Oh, and he comes off really granola, like Otto the bus driver on The Simpsons.
But he was torn up and strung out over the downturn in his dad's health. He said he was there since 11 in the afternoon. And when I left, after about 90 minutes, he was still there. Now that's dedication. But then again, this is his father. Would you expect anything less? I stayed an hour longer than I planned because I was catching up with my cousin and giving him and what I assume is his girlfriend a break from doting over him. And I regretted leaving -- not just because I felt like I was abandoning my uncle, but not helping out my cousin as much as I could.
There's a radio personality I used to intern for, Dan Cole, the Common Man, at KFAN. I remember hearing a few months back that his mother died. And he regretted that she died, technically, alone; she passed (or, as my cousin continued to say, "cross over") after he left but before his sister was supposed to drop in. I don't know if there was an arrangement to basically tend to her in shifts, but regardless, the fact that Common's mom died with no one around is a fear that I'm afraid will happen with my uncle.
However, it's really draining to be around someone who may be in his final days. Not just emotionally, but physically. I don't have much going on now, but planning on seeing him means I'll have to block out time to drive across town, and then I'll have to stick around, and then I'll regret the moment I decide to leave, because maybe I should stay one more minute, or five more minutes, or ten, or fifteen, or. ...
But I have to admit this: At the same time I don't want my uncle to "die alone" -- which admittedly might be factually false; I mean, no one's dying with him, so I guess in that sense we all "die alone," and he has been unconscious the two times I've seen him last, so I don't know if he's even aware that anyone is there with him, so maybe making sure he doesn't "die alone" is less for him and more for us, the living -- I'm afraid that he in fact will die while I'm there.
Tonight I had to pick up my car from the mechanic. I budgeted my time to see uncle to about an hour, but now that I know what I'm butting up against, I gave myself more time just in case. But, and I feel ashamed about this, I didn't want to go in there too early because I didn't want to spend so much time staying at his side. It's just too heavy, man. My uncle is dying, and I am very afraid of being around death. So after I picked up my car, I drove it several yards to a coffeeshop right next door to the mechanic, and I drank coffee for an hour. I figured I would be going to the health center at the "perfect" time. The possibility that my unc could expire before I got there is an idea that crossed my mind yet dismissed because I didn't think I could handle it. And that just continues to rattle in my head, and the guilt and the thoughts of, "You're pathetic, Unforgivable Wetness" materialize and confront the feelings of being overwhelmed by the thought of him dying, and I'm haunted over the war I wage with myself.
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I stayed for about 90 minutes total last (Wednesday) night. I needed to make sure I washed my hands before I touched him, something I did not do Tuesday night, and so long as I was in the bathroom I decided I should relieve myself just in case. Didn't have to, by the way.
This health center, I think, is double-occupied. It certainly is no way for a person to go. This reminds me of the time I visited Mother as she was giving birth to my sister. She was in the near end of the room, and my brother and I couldn't help but peek into what the stranger on the other side of the curtain was dying. Total invasion of privacy. Can't you give a guy his own room?
Here, my uncle is on the far side, the side with the window. The other person seems to be, like my uncle, a stroke sufferer. It's always awkward to pass by him, his face paralyzed in an expression that vaguely evokes pain. He deserves not to have people he doesn't know gawking at him, wondering what twists of fate brought him to this hospital, possibly to die.
The downside to sharing a room is that there is little room to maneuver. There was a chair there, so my plan was to sit by his side till, well, "I did my time." And I confess, most of the first half of my time with my uncle I was concentrating less on him and concentrating more on getting pissy that there was no room in which to move this chair so that I could sit, reach over, hold his hand and just lay there without twisting my body or cutting off circulation to my limb.
I wonder if my uncle could sense my tension going through my fingers. I didn't just hold his hand, although I recoiled when it was clear he wasn't going to squeeze my hand, like he did when on prior visits. I also wanted to feel his pulse on his wrist. It freaked me the fuck out, but as long as I was going to be there, I needed to know if, Buddha forbid, he was going to go while I was there. But as long as I could feel a thump, I knew he was at least alive, that he was at least still with us. His heart is beating rapidly, and his breaths are quick and shallow. But for now, he is not dead.
No one was there, by the way. Not the big cousin who was there at least ten hours when I dropped by Wednesday, not the aunt and little cousin who broke the news to me New Year's Day, not the strange middle child, the cousin who wears kabuki makeup and really pissed off my sister when she came to her wedding in Tuscany. No one was there. Why isn't someone there? But the nurse did say that family was there to talk to a nurse. So maybe they did spend time with him, more time than I did or ever would, and maybe I shouldn't judge?
And so I felt guilty when I left my uncle at about 10 to 9, all alone. I so wanted to have someone relieve me, but I just couldn't stay there. My time should be for him, but I couldn't stay longer than I did. And you know what I left my uncle, whose breaths might be numbered, for? To go to Hooters to take advantage of all-you-can-eat wings Wednesdays. (The service was bad that night, as well; the waitress, though she had great cleavage thanks to the chicken cutlets she put to enhance her boobs, kept pushing me about whether I wanted more wings, and the second time I ordered it took them 20 minutes to bring them.) I could have spent that time at my uncle's side. But I was just worn out and couldn't spend another minute. And now I think I'm an asshole.
I'll try and make it up to him by staying longer. Hopefully I'll be able to see him, period, tomorrow.
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