When I'm Tired And Thinking Cold, I Hide In My Music, Forget The Day, And Dream Of A Girl I Used To Know, I Closed My Eyes And She Slipped Away
--"More Than A Feeling", Boston
What were you doing on May 14, 2003? Can you even remember that far back? Or does that one day just get lost in the shuffle of all the days before and after it? I tried asking that to a few of my friends in the last couple of days and their answers were both amusing and a little bit surprising. From studying for yet another exam for summer session to planning a summer getaway with one's husband, from getting drunk in the back of St. Francis to whiling away the hours in one's bedroom, nobody can recall doing anything of real import on that day. No one can even remember a single anecdote worthy of telling about the day. It's like its turn could have almost been skipped in the calendar and hardly anybody would have blinked.
Some notable events from May 14, 2003? George Lucas turned 59. Former Bond, Roger Moore, was reportedly doing fine after receiving a pacemaker the previous week. Also, apparently France was paralyzed by public workers striking.
And what was I doing? I was listening to Give Up by The Postal Service. It'd recently come out and recently been recommended to me by a friend who had requested I finally return the CD back to her. I drove in my car listening to "Nothing Better," thinking to myself how many parallels to DeAnn and I that song had and trying hard not to think about what was really on my mind. I was thinking how I really should have given back the CD a long time ago. I was thinking what kind of shitty friend I was to have kept it so long. I was thinking that something this good I really shouldn't have selfishly kept.
As I arrived at the hospital, I said hello to Amelia the day shift nurse at the front desk like I had dozens of times before. She remarked how it was the third visit in almost as many days that week. Then she teased about my being sure that my friend and I weren't a couple like everyone suspected. I laughed it off, clutching the CD in my hand, and told her I was just returning it back to its rightful owner.
I popped into Jennifer's room, thinking I would surprise her, but she was still asleep. I was the one actually taken by surprise. I'd been there dozens of times, but seeing her hooked up to all the monitors, all the tubes, all the electronics, still surprised as much as the first day I had heard the news that my friend was sick. That she wasn't getting better. Instead of waking her up, I just took the CD with me, thinking I'd have another opportunity the next day or later on that week maybe.
Before I left I looked at her one last time. So calm. So peaceful. On the outside I was still worried about her, but on the inside it kind of relieved me to see her so at rest. Earlier in the week, it'd been such a struggle just to keep her focused and alert. It had also been hard for me to keep coming and seeing just how far she was slipping. But I'd promised her that I was strong enough to handle it, I'd promised her that contrary to what she believed she was wrong not to tell me how much she was hurting earlier and she was wrong to believe I would shy away from watching her slowly fade away. I couldn't back down then--no matter how so unlike her she was becoming. The sight of her finally being able to take a moment for herself was relieving. So much pain in so young of a woman. A stupid CD could wait.
It wasn't until later that night that I heard she never woke up. It wasn't until later that night that I heard she had finally found a way out from the prison her body had built around.
It wasn't until later that night that I found out my friend Jennifer had died.
And what was I doing at 9:42 p.m. on the evening of May 14, 2003? I had my eyes closed, probably half-asleep, listening to some song off the CD I had just re-borrowed from a friend I loved very deeply. A day doesn't go by that I hear a Postal Service song and I don't think of her.
I'd like to believe that I'll have an opportunity to give it back to her someday because it's a pretty fucking awesome CD and I think it would be cool to listen to it with her at least once. Yeah, that would be really cool.
Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers
What were you doing on May 14, 2003? Can you even remember that far back? Or does that one day just get lost in the shuffle of all the days before and after it? I tried asking that to a few of my friends in the last couple of days and their answers were both amusing and a little bit surprising. From studying for yet another exam for summer session to planning a summer getaway with one's husband, from getting drunk in the back of St. Francis to whiling away the hours in one's bedroom, nobody can recall doing anything of real import on that day. No one can even remember a single anecdote worthy of telling about the day. It's like its turn could have almost been skipped in the calendar and hardly anybody would have blinked.Some notable events from May 14, 2003? George Lucas turned 59. Former Bond, Roger Moore, was reportedly doing fine after receiving a pacemaker the previous week. Also, apparently France was paralyzed by public workers striking.
And what was I doing? I was listening to Give Up by The Postal Service. It'd recently come out and recently been recommended to me by a friend who had requested I finally return the CD back to her. I drove in my car listening to "Nothing Better," thinking to myself how many parallels to DeAnn and I that song had and trying hard not to think about what was really on my mind. I was thinking how I really should have given back the CD a long time ago. I was thinking what kind of shitty friend I was to have kept it so long. I was thinking that something this good I really shouldn't have selfishly kept.
As I arrived at the hospital, I said hello to Amelia the day shift nurse at the front desk like I had dozens of times before. She remarked how it was the third visit in almost as many days that week. Then she teased about my being sure that my friend and I weren't a couple like everyone suspected. I laughed it off, clutching the CD in my hand, and told her I was just returning it back to its rightful owner.
I popped into Jennifer's room, thinking I would surprise her, but she was still asleep. I was the one actually taken by surprise. I'd been there dozens of times, but seeing her hooked up to all the monitors, all the tubes, all the electronics, still surprised as much as the first day I had heard the news that my friend was sick. That she wasn't getting better. Instead of waking her up, I just took the CD with me, thinking I'd have another opportunity the next day or later on that week maybe.
Before I left I looked at her one last time. So calm. So peaceful. On the outside I was still worried about her, but on the inside it kind of relieved me to see her so at rest. Earlier in the week, it'd been such a struggle just to keep her focused and alert. It had also been hard for me to keep coming and seeing just how far she was slipping. But I'd promised her that I was strong enough to handle it, I'd promised her that contrary to what she believed she was wrong not to tell me how much she was hurting earlier and she was wrong to believe I would shy away from watching her slowly fade away. I couldn't back down then--no matter how so unlike her she was becoming. The sight of her finally being able to take a moment for herself was relieving. So much pain in so young of a woman. A stupid CD could wait.
It wasn't until later that night that I heard she never woke up. It wasn't until later that night that I heard she had finally found a way out from the prison her body had built around.
It wasn't until later that night that I found out my friend Jennifer had died.
And what was I doing at 9:42 p.m. on the evening of May 14, 2003? I had my eyes closed, probably half-asleep, listening to some song off the CD I had just re-borrowed from a friend I loved very deeply. A day doesn't go by that I hear a Postal Service song and I don't think of her.
I'd like to believe that I'll have an opportunity to give it back to her someday because it's a pretty fucking awesome CD and I think it would be cool to listen to it with her at least once. Yeah, that would be really cool.
Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers
Labels: Dying, Jennifer, music, Remembrance
posted by mojo shivers @ 11:56 PM
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