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- Apr 30, 2005
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- 33,776
His mom called yesterday.
He's in the hospital, and asked (actually wrote on paper) to hear my voice.
He can't talk.
He's weak and has been intubated for 10 days.
Today being day 10, they have to remove the tube and perform a tracheostomy (cutting a hole in the throat).
The incision lets him breath, but he still won't really be able to speak.
She asked me to stay by my phone today; she'll call me and hold the phone to his ear.
Oh man!
Since he can't talk, our "conversation" will be a monologue.
Now I'm brainstorming for memories/things that might cheer him up, or at least improve his mood and get his mind off of what's happening ... but he can't react to what I'm saying.
I can't even see his facial reactions.
Maybe what I'm saying is the wrong things to say. I won't know.
I remember he often asked me to sing and play songs for him on guitar.
UGH! This is rough.
This reminds me of when my own mom was near death; I visited her, with my guitar.
The nurses said she had been unresponsive for weeks.
When I played her favorite Christian songs her eyes briefly opened wide, she said my name, then slipped back into unconsciousness.
Music is so powerful.
IMO music can be a shortcut to the inner person, especially when produced by a loved one.
Much like sharing the friendliness and affection that Bibi shows to strangers, I'm thrilled I can make music that touches people, both strangers and loved ones.
To me the death of others is so F-ing hard to witness because it throws our own mortality into our faces.
Life is good at getting so accustomed to living that we slide into assuming life is just always.
No wonder so many cultures have invented so many religions.
So today I'm practicing songs for a friend, waiting for his mom's call.
He's in the hospital, and asked (actually wrote on paper) to hear my voice.
He can't talk.
He's weak and has been intubated for 10 days.
Today being day 10, they have to remove the tube and perform a tracheostomy (cutting a hole in the throat).
The incision lets him breath, but he still won't really be able to speak.
She asked me to stay by my phone today; she'll call me and hold the phone to his ear.
Oh man!
Since he can't talk, our "conversation" will be a monologue.
Now I'm brainstorming for memories/things that might cheer him up, or at least improve his mood and get his mind off of what's happening ... but he can't react to what I'm saying.
I can't even see his facial reactions.
Maybe what I'm saying is the wrong things to say. I won't know.
I remember he often asked me to sing and play songs for him on guitar.
UGH! This is rough.
This reminds me of when my own mom was near death; I visited her, with my guitar.
The nurses said she had been unresponsive for weeks.
When I played her favorite Christian songs her eyes briefly opened wide, she said my name, then slipped back into unconsciousness.
Music is so powerful.
IMO music can be a shortcut to the inner person, especially when produced by a loved one.
Much like sharing the friendliness and affection that Bibi shows to strangers, I'm thrilled I can make music that touches people, both strangers and loved ones.
To me the death of others is so F-ing hard to witness because it throws our own mortality into our faces.
Life is good at getting so accustomed to living that we slide into assuming life is just always.
No wonder so many cultures have invented so many religions.
So today I'm practicing songs for a friend, waiting for his mom's call.
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