Dante called me last night. I must have fallen asleep on the phone though, because he came over to see me. I felt bad about making him drive in all the way from Leonardo, but I guess he's that much of a friend. Besides, I heard he closed the Quick Stop so that he could go to Julie's funeral, and to talk to Caitlan Bree. I'm surprised the boss doesn't go in there and plant a foot in his ass for closing so often. Anyway, Dante came over and spent the night on the floor beside my bed. I'm glad he did, because I don't want to be alone.
All my life, I was afraid of dying alone. I'm serious. I'd always pictured myself dying like my Nana. She wasn't alone; she was comfortable at her house, warm and cozy in her bed. She was surrounded by family that I didn't even know existed! Of course, it was 1977, and our family stayed close together. Except for weird Uncle Bill (my Dad's brother) and Aunt Edna, who moved out to Santa Barbara and had five kids, including my Cousin Anthony. Even they came back when Nana died. She died happy, and surrounded by family and friends.
Of course, my family has since dispersed all over the country. I've got most of my friends who are willing to talk to me. Dante, Randal, Holden… even Hooper would probably talk to me… If I had the balls to approach him, that is.
Dante stayed with me, and that made me feel great for once. He helped me to my bedroom after I made a failed attempt to stand and walk on my own. He actually helped me into my pajamas and tucked me into my bed. Strange, I know, but Dante has this mothering quality to him. He's sweet, but he's only being nice. His mother raised him to be a proper gentleman, and though he doesn't normally show it, he can show it when he wants to show it. So, he slept here on the floor. I offered to allow him to sleep in my bed, but he says that he doesn't sleep well when he's in a bed. He said something about sleeping in a closet made him most comfortable, but the floor would be good for his back.
I don't remember who I first told when I found out I had cancer. I was in a dazed depression for at least three days. I might have called Holden, but it very well could have been Hooper or Dante. All I remember is sitting in the doctor's office and having my heart sink into the floor when I heard that I had lung cancer. ' Fuck, I shouldn't have smoked.' I thought. Then I remembered that Nana died from Lung cancer. So did Papa. I also remembered that my old man himself had survived a bout with cancer. Of course, then Dr. Matthews told me that my cancer had progressed too far to treat easily. He told me that I would probably die within two years.
It's been 7 months, 12 days, 14 hours, 37 minutes, and… about 19 seconds.
Death comes naturally, I suppose, and all I've gotta do is wait for it. I'm waiting, and waiting, and waiting. Death hasn't come to visit me yet. I'm even beginning to wonder what the Angel of Death looks like. I was always terrified of the grim reaper. It's like he's getting ready to take me to hell or something. I know I've done some bad shit in my life, but I don't think that God would automatically send me to hell without judging me first. I've repented for my sins, and I try and make it to church more often.
I'm finding myself becoming more and more of a transcendentalist every day. I see God in everything, in all her glory. I have started to meditate to ease my pain. All I have to do is sit down and close my eyes, and soon I'm off in my own experience. I'm dreaming, but I'm still here. It's like really great sex, but it's with your soul. I think everyone could benefit from a little bit of meditation. It could truly do wonders for the world. Hell, even Jay could benefit from a little bit of transcendental meditation every now and then. Hell, maybe I could buy him Yoga classes before I finally die.
