I don't know how much I really want to write about this weekend. My uncle is very far-gone: very jaundiced, heavily doped on morphine, and emaciated to the point of being skeletal. He's very beautiful, very fragile, very radiant, very loving right now...all of which are perfectly reasonable things to be when you know you're not long for this world. On the way out, the Boy held his hand, and my uncle leaned over to kiss it. The Boy then kissed my uncle's hand. It was an unspeakably tender moment.
This was the first time I have ever been at a deathbed. We talked a lot, joked, laughed, ate, planned, and read. The Boy brought along Lamb (for some gospel laughs) and Peace Is Every Step (for those Zen truths). My aunt spent a lot of time crying. Poor woman - she has no family and few friends in this country. I don't know what she's going to do when my uncle leaves us.
My grandparents and my other uncle are responding typically to this, in other words they've completely lost touch with reality. My grandmother - when she's not haranguing my aunt about petty shit - is saying useless things like, "I think he's getting better." My other uncle is in a very strange dreamworld that seems to be scripted by the author of the Celestine Prophesies. My grandfather says very little.
The only good thing to come out of this situation is that the hospital is actually in Hamilton, not St. Catherine's, so although my aunt needed a place to stay, the Boy's father has offered to put her up in their guest room indefinitely. I'm very proud of my in-laws right now. Not that I'm not normally; I'm just extra special proud today.
