My time spent at the hospice Sarah House over the last year has impacted the depths of me in ways words cannot express.  I feel as if I have barely begun the journey of unpacking and processing all that is to be gleaned from that experience.  The House has brought to me many dear friends.  Some who still remain and several who have passed.  One in particular who took hold of my heart.  Ron Sachs died in the early morning hours of June 3rd.  To work through my tangled emotions I took pencil to pages.  The mess that follows are the words that spilled out of me and into my journal in those difficult days.  It is long, confused, unedited - full of mistakes and ramblings - yet it is honest.  It is raw.  And it is for Ron.  He always did love to be the center of attention.

Ron Sachs ::June 3rd 2008::

Thursday May 29th .The Day I Saw You Last.

You were eating breakfast in the dining room.  I was in the kitchen.  You heard my voice.  You followed it.  

Through the doorway you came.  Tall as an oak, yet fragile as a flower.  Dressed in the usual black attire, purple scarf around your neck, black patch over your right eye.  Long gray wavy hair.  Ear piece in its permanent place.  Your presence is intimidating to most.  Your stature and demeanor often breed apprehension: large, strong, outspoken, opinionated... You see me from the doorway.  Our eyes catch.

You see me.  You breath in.  "Aaahh" you breathe.  My mouth parts into a smile.  It has been more than a week.  You bring your palms together at your chest and bow deeply.  "Namaste Leah."  "Namaste."  The Divine in me salutes the Divine in you.  I walk to you.  A smile on my face and an affectionate greeting of "Ron!"  We embrace.

We embrace.  Even then this hug felt different.  I tucked my head under your chin.  You put your hand on my head.  "Bless you."  You whisper to me.  We were both glad to once again be in the other's company.  It felt genuine.  Real.   I was reminded of how much I like you.

"Come have breakfast with us?"

"Of course.  Let me get some coffee."

We sat and ate together.  I mostly talked to David's girlfriend.  I did not talk to you.  But I watched you.  You could not see me as I sat at your right side.  But I stared at your face.  I saw your right cheek was now protruding.  The tumor had grown drastically in the past week of my absence.  It was not only your eye now affected.  I saw the small pool of blood dripping from your nose and resting upon your gray mustache.  I saw you struggle to eat your potatoes.  I saw the effort it took to lift your fork to your mouth.  I saw your English muffin and hard-boiled egg drop from your hand.  I heard you sighing heavily.  I heard your struggle for several breaths.  

You were so different from only a week before.  Debbie had warned me that morning of your recent rapid decline.   She told me to be prepared.  I wasn't.  I was surprised.  Your were not my feisty friend.  You were sick.  You were a man living in a hospice.  You were dying.  I had forgotten.

You said you wanted to lie on the couch.  I told you people were in the living room, but the couch was free.

"Will the noise be too much?"

"I don't think so," I replied.

You slowly pushed yourself back from the table.  Grabbed your walking stick and left the room.  Your plate, your plate Ron, it was still full of food.

I went to organize the linen closets.  One down.  Debbie stops me.

"Feel free just to sit with Ron on the couch.  He would like that."

"Okay."  I say.

But Ron.  My dear friend Ron.  I did not want to sit with you.  You were sick.  I was afraid.  I did not want to see you so sick.  I had forgotten.  I thought I would see you the next day.  Come and read to you when you were 'feeling better.'  I did not accept your current state.  I couldn't.  It was too soon.

George, a new resident, was in the living room.  I went and introduced myself.  I sat with him while you slept nearby.  You awoke.  "Ahh Leah."  We began to talk.  You would begin thoughts and sentences then slowly drift to sleep before finished.  You had been sleeping a few minutes.  I went and got our book.  I came and sat next to you on the couch.  I read silently by your side as you dozed in and out of slumber.

In this, peace was found.  Simply to sit.  To be.  I felt a peace.  The fear disappeared and contentment filled its place.  I like to remember these last moments.  Us just breathing next to each other.  I like to think of this.  I like to think you also were filled with peace and contentment in these moments.

I slipped out as you slept.  Assured I would be seeing you soon.

Wednesday June 4th .The Day You Left.

6:30am.  My phone wakes me up.  I let it ring.  It's an unknown number.  7:00am.  Curiosity gets the better of me.  I check my voicemail.  It's Debbie.  "Call me as soon as you wake up."  45 minutes of restless slumber.  Dreams of Sarah House and Laura.  7:45am.  I call Debbie.

"Hello."

"Debbie it's Leah."

"Oh hi honey.  I have some really sad news.  Ron died last night."

.SILENCE.

"You there?"

"Ya, ya I'm here.  What?"

"He didn't speak much all day yesterday.  His family was here.  I would have called you but his whole family, 3 large people were in there.  I thought we'd have more time.  I would have called you.  It just all happened so fast.  It all happened too fast."  [broken tears]  

"And I'm sorry to say it was a hard death.  That happens sometimes.  I wasn't there. [tears]  But he was in a lot of pain, and we couldn't find the source.  There was a lot of crying out.  All I can think, rest in, is that he's at peace now."  

"He'll be here until mid-morning if you want to see him."

"I do.  I do.  I'll be right there.  Thanks Debbie."

I get up and begin to get ready.  I was okay.  I was dealing just fine.  I was reassuring myself that I knew this would happen soon enough.  Black pants.  No shorts.  I was fine.  Gray and black striped shirt.  Ron liked black.  He loved black.  Leopard shoes.  Comfortable for walking.  I would walk later to a park.  To write of Ron.  Carmel scarf.  Almost done.  I was fine.  Time to wash my face.  Teeth brushed.  Hair up.  I turn on the water.  I look at my reflection in the mirror.  Water running, fan on, door closed, I am alone.  No one can hear me.  I am not fine.

The tears drop into the running water.  I watch m y face turn red, it's expression distort into one of anguish.  Sobs begin to escape my lips.  I bend and rest my forehead on the cool sink.  I am not fine.  This is not fine.

8:30am.  Don't bother with makeup.  I decide to walk.  I will walk to see Ron.  I will listen to his music along the way.  I will think of him.

I arrive at the house.  I am crying.  I see Laura.  She asks if I know.  I nod.  Hug.  I see Darlene.  Hug.  I will go see him now.  I meet Debbie in the hallway.  Hug: a long, tight, comforting embrace.  She does not allow me to resist.

"You want to see him?"

"Yes."

"We will go together."

She hooks her arm in mine and clasps my hand with both of hers.  She is compassion.  She is broken by death yet is a symbol of strength.

"Meet Ron's brother."  "Stew this is a volunteer, she used to read to Ron."

.Shake hands.  "Stew."  "Leah."

"Leah? Oh."  .HUG.  "I've heard about you.  Thank you for reading to him, he enjoyed it so much."

.Second brother joins us.

"This is Leah, she used to read to Ron regularly.  Ron really cared for Leah."

"Oh I'm sure he did.  My brother wasn't stupid.  I've heard about how beautiful you are."

"Yes, Leah was one of his Jr Goddesses.  As you can see, they were close.  Well and Leah's young, it makes a difference."

.Leah = crying like a child.

"We're going to see him now."

I open the door.  Suzanne is there with Ron's nurse.  Her eyes are wet.  Hug: long and reassuring.  I walk around to the other side of the bed.

"She's going to sit in her reading chair."  I hear someone say.

You, Ron, look beautiful.  Your eye is taped - to keep the 'enemy' at bay - and your purple scarf is spread across your chest.  A single flower rests atop.  Your music is playing.  A candle is lit.  Your wild hair is tamed.  Your black and white blanket covers your outstretched body.

The tears begin to quicken their pace.  Falling down my face faster than I can catch them.  Debbie and Suzanne come and sit on either side of me.  Both on an arm of the chair, with one of their arms around me.  I am suddenly hot.  I begin to sweat.  What's happening?

I tell them how I had not seen you since Thursday.  How I was going to see you Friday, but then went out of town.  And how I was going to see you yesterday, but the cramps and a friend coming into town.  It was Tuesday.  Wednesday is my day.  I thought, oh just one more day.  I was going to see you today.  Yesterday things came up.  Insignificant things.  I could have ignored the cramps.  I could have made the friend wait.  But I didn't.  I didn't and now I missed you.  Now you're gone.

Debbie and Suzanne comfort me as two mother hens.

Debbie says it's okay.  Other things came up.  You can learn from this.  You are young.  Next time trust your instinct.  Stop by for even just a moment.  Learn.

Suzanne says as she gets older she more and more believes everything has its own timing.  Things happen.  They unfold as they should.  The way it is is the best way.  It is as it should be.

I nod my head.  Thank you.

We all laugh at their mothering.  "Look at us.  Poor Leah.  Listening to us."

They go to leave.  Hugs.

Suzanne:  "Let yourself grieve.  Do not be embarrassed.  Do not hold back.  We all have made deep connections with certain people, and the deeper it goes, the more we opened ourselves to them, the more it hurts."

"But it's worth it.  It's worth it."

"And that's a profound thing to recognize at such a young age.  Call me anytime if you want to talk.  No censor."

"Thank you.  I'm glad you were here."

It's just you and I now.

Me in my chair.  Your music playing.  The tears are unceasing.

I reach out my hand, rest it on your shoulder.

I begin to talk to you.  The first words that fill the air are a broken "I'm sorry."

This becomes my mantra.  "I'm sorry."  "I'm sorry."  "I'm sorry Ron."

For not coming yesterday.  For going out of town.  For not coming more often.  For not taking your condition more seriously.  For not staying longer on Thursday.  For failing to try yoga for you.  For writing you off.

I'm sorry.  I'm sorry.  I'm sorry.

I am crying uncontrollably.  Thoughts playing at the back of mind:

You look like a crazy person Leah.  You sound ludicrous.  This is morbid.  What are you doing?  Morbid.  This is not Ron.  This is a dead body.  Who are you talking to?  Morbid.

Other, more unsettling thoughts begin to dance:

If this is not Ron, this body, no longer human, no longer soul, where is Ron?  Where is this mean, harsh, drug addict, friendless - lovable, gentle, beautiful friend of mine?

As I stare at the candle burning, the wick yellow, red and orange above the wax, I think of love.

If I love him so, how much more does Love itself cherish him?  Ron must be with Him now.  He must.  In paradise. In peace.  At rest.  Finally experiencing his worth.  His true being.  I cannot accept anything else.

If this is delusional, then well, I suppose I am delusional.  If this is too complicated, if this is not in the spectrum of black and white, then I choose to live in a land where various shades of gray roam free.

My words change.  Regret turns to gratitude.  The apologies become "Thank you's."

Thank you.  Thank you Ron.  Thank you.

For teaching me.  For accepting me.  For inspiring me.  For encouraging me.  For seeing me as worthy of your title Jr. Goddess.  For demanding me to be decisive.  For telling me all I have to offer.  For allowing me to be apart of your journey.

I sit awhile longer.  Touching your shoulder.

I get up to leave.  Walk to the other side of you and look down at your face.

Staring.

It's time.

I turn and open the door.  Take one step out into the hall.  Then.  Panic hits.

The reality sets in.  This is the last time I will see your face.  Ever.

I step quietly back into the room, closing the door behind me.

I stand by your bedside.  Crying again.

I touch your hand.  A proper farewell is in order.  One recognizing this as the very last moment:

"Goodbye Ron."

Is all I could think of to say.  I turn and leave you there.

"Goodbye Ron."