The Aerie
Whoa. Been a busy week.
The big news was when Moldy came out of his coma on Tuesday. Tim and I
stopped by on Wednesday night. I had met his older sister (someone I
hadn't seen for twenty five years) on Sunday, now I saw his younger
sister again (saw her last year at a school reunion), his brother, and
his mother. They were all present, fussing over Moldy while his wife
and a friend went grocery shopping.
In Minnesota, love is frequently expressed through food. Holiday
tables sag beneath potluck, and picnics look like outdoor delis, and
the happiest families have reunions featuring more calories than some
people get in a lifetime. Moldy's cupboards are bursting. You can't
fit anything into anywhere, and when you want to eat something you
have your choice of aged cheeses, pastries, meats, fruits, and veggies
that would have shamed a Roman emperor. Despite this, their friend
needed to take Blondie shopping for more food. Now that's love.
When we arrived Moldy was in quite the mood: slow, unsteady, and weak,
but man was he determined. He was going to get up out of that bed, he
was going to walk to his bedroom, and he was going to change into
normal clothes, and by gum there wasn't much going to stand in his
way. With Blondie out of the house there was little his family or
friends could do to convince him to stay in the bed.
So we helped him into a rolling desk chair (he refused to acknowledge
the existence of the wheelchair). When that came to the narrow back
hallway he forced himself to his feet and walked -- albeit slowly and
with help -- back to the bedroom.
We began to run into trouble at that point because he wanted to put on
ordinary jeans, but was in no shape to put them on or, later, take
them off himself. Fortunately Blondie came home at that point and in
her no-nonsense fashion convinced him that sweatpants were de rigeur
for the recently-comatose set.
Back out in the dining room again we passed the time with him while
their friend from California made dinner. The fellow is all heart --
he flew out for two weeks to be live-in help for them -- but my word
the man didn't seem to know his way around a kitchen. It took him over
an hour to fix pasta and tofu meatballs for everyone, and about the
time he was ready to serve, I had to leave.
But it was good to see Moldy in such a fighting spirit. Now that he's
not comatose, I am allowing myself to harbor a small spark of hope
that he can somehow pull through this. I almost have to, since in
order to go there and be supportive I have to be convinced it's
possible. If I try to fake it, he'll not only know it in my face, but
fabrications of false cheer seem to drain me of any energy.
Yesterday I spent the day digging through my memorabilia files. In
part this is in response to his sister's request for memorabilia about
him, and in part I did so because it really really needed doing. For
15 years I've been toting my oldest momentos about in a cardboard box,
and I finally figured out to transfer them to a portable plastic file
drawer that I inherited from my father.
It's funny the stuff you find. I found a love letter from a girl in
high school who had moved away to Florida. I can tell from reading it
that she was just lonely and pining for her old home, coming as it did
during the summer before her first day in her new school. I don't
really remember her, or anything that she described having happened
between us in the letter. I found a ribbon that said "Miracle Worker,"
but I have no idea where it came from or why I have it. I feel ashamed
that I can't remember where or why these supposedly important things
were in my memorabilia box, but I guess that's to be expected after
such a long time.
I also found a sketch I'd done of my wife while she was expecting our
twins. Despite the fact that I didn't remember having drawn it, I felt
good about it. That's because, viewed impartially in the moment before
I realized who the artist had been, I thought "Wow, good sketch!" I
may have swiss cheese for brains, but I'm a passable amateur when I
set my mind to it.
And I found several bits of pretty funny Moldy stuff. A birthday card
he made for me in 1982 (during our Dungeons and Dragons phase: it
showed a half-bird half-woman flying out of a cake and read "Harpy
Birthday!". Two concert reviews by him, one from our high school paper
proclaiming the virtues of the group Heart, the other from a fanzine
in 1983 complaining about the headbangers at a Husker Du concert.
Called last night and heard he was up and having a lobster dinner, got
an e-mail today from his younger sister saying he was having a pretty
good day. So all in all a better Sunday than last Sunday, that's for
sure. Tim and I or just I will go visit him again one of these days
here. And I'll continue to fan the little spark of hope in the damp
tinder of reality against the chance of his beating the odds.
[1]Last
Posted by Albatross at April 20, 2003 12:00 AM