Saturday, September 29, 2007

Sorrow Is A Wound Fresh

Today remains Saturday, 29 September 2007.


by: Thomas Dekker

"The month of May, the merry month of May,
So frolic, so gay, and so green, so green, so green!"

Joseph, same name of him of many coloured coat, was a dearest friend when I lived in New York City, and my wife’s best friend there. Something there is of each of us which perished in his death, and has not, thus far, revived.

Yes, it was, on the first day of the merry month of May, in 1991, when, upon the afternoon, upon entering his hospital room, for what I thought was a not unusual visit, as my wife and I had visited at least every other day since January, when Joe was last hospitalized, and today [sic, you see the sorrow is a wound fresh] I came this afternoon by myself, a special circumstance to be explained below, certain Joe was on the road to recovery, well, not recovery, in those days, from AIDS, but long-term stabilization.

I had, at the time, aged 39, already too full experience of friends and strangers death and dying, and I, that moment, that afternoon, seeing Joseph, knew Joe was marked swiftly for the end.

And the next night, around 7 p.m., when Joe had been peacefully sleeping, and suddenly shot bolt-upright in bed, screaming, “Mommy save me Mommy save me I don’t want to die” and wildly convulsing, and his life-partner and I spread ourselves across his limbs, and tenderly held him, his limbs madly battering us, until the resident arrived with a needle, and he shortly slept.


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