Chrisonomicon

Tuesday, January 30, 2001

Lisa?s face was damply illuminated by the light next to her hospital bed, one arm slumped over the top of her head. Her eyes appeared closed, but as we walked in, she spoke our names.

"Guys," she said, groggily. "Hey Eric, Mary Beth. Hi Mike. Chris, thank you guys so much for coming." Her husband, Dave, stood up to greet us. I extended my hand.

"Hey, thanks for coming by." He shook each of our hands and we took places around Lisa?s bed. I noticed her squeeze her left hand. Click. A monitor attached to her IV began to mechanically administer her morphine and she shifted under the sheets to make herself more comfortable.

Somehow, I felt a schizm between myself and the rest of the group. We were here, bonded by this common friend, but they were older, more established, more human. I joked with them and conversed lightly with Lisa, which made me feel a little better.

Looking back, I realized they made an attempt to include me. Looking back on looking back, I now realize that I was a part of things. I just didn?t feel that way.

Avoiding Eric?s eyes, I bled myself into the forefront of conversation and partook in his usual attempt to lighten the room. In half-jest, she asked us to stop making her laugh. I wondered if it was possible for Eric.

In my mind, I nodded to her: "I know how it is, Lisa. He makes you laugh until the stitches pull -- until you come apart."

We left our wishes for health at the door and drifted out of the hospital. I hugged everyone, and waited to leave while Eric said his goodbyes. He walked ahead of me, without an embrace.

"See ya, bud." Good-bye.