Eric was moved from his room and brought to ICU were he would be put on dialysis. Exhaustion and hunger were over taking me and I left for a short time to grab a bite and 40 winks. When I returned to ICU Eric was no longer there. I asked the nurse at the desk what had happened and she told me that Eric had been moved to the hospice upstairs. Fear and dread and resignation to the fact that nothing else could be done to bring him back wrapped its self around my chest like a thorny corset. The moment was rolling toward the pins with no gutter, no rebound, no reset, and no concession. I stood shoulder to shoulder with those pins, watching the moment come thundering down the alley, gathering momentum and thundering force with all of the indifference and brutality that nature its self has always been guided by. I stood bye those pins now knowing that there would be no spare, or compromise. The formation would be holey laid to waste. There would be no pin left standing. No lucky combination. The strike was now inevitable. The game would soon be over and all hope for rematch was fleetingly gone as the truth would soon roll over all of us.
The elevator doors opened to friendly color and gentle light. I was taken back by the more humane air and the amusing paintings that were made by obviously well meaning armatures that festooned every wall. I made my way to a generously sized waiting room with a wall of windows over looking the east village, comfortable sofas and chairs, a kitchenette, big plants. It was a vastly different planet from what I’d known visiting Eric those past weeks just a few floors below. I made my way to Bette and she told me that as soon as Eric was put on dialysis he began to crash. The procedure was too great a shock to his fragile system and the staff in ICU immediately took him off of it sighting that it would have killed him in no time. Bette also told me that the ICU staff opined in so many words that the doctor was a shameless imbecile to have not considered this result due to Eric’s delicate state. It was now time for the hospice, the only truly civil place to spend his last impending hours. While I had been gone Bette went through Eric’s phone book and called every one she could, letting all parties concerned know that the end was now in hand. One by one friendly faces filed in, weeping gentle tears and telling wonderful stories, some spanning more than forty years. The room filled and love so enchantingly enveloped all within it.
Eric laid still but gently smiled in his morphine induced slumber. He was still breathing hard but, not seemingly bothered by it. The lights were dim and mellow as loving friends took their turns to bid fare well. They sat by his side and held his hand and revisit shared stories, adventures and events. I sat in the corner like a fly on the wall to absorb those moments of emotional display, to steal for myself the opportunity of witnessing so grand an out pouring of first hand adoration. I wondered if he could hear all of those precious things said, if he could feel the kisses and his hand being held and his forehead being softly stroked. Were these the reasons for his smile so serene or, was he peacefully adrift on velvet waves to what ever his heaven might be? I said my good byes but, not with such finality. I knew that I’d see him again soon. In his present state he could last hours or he could last days. I stayed till about nine that evening. I made my way home and pretty much cried myself to sleep.
