Tag Archives: death

My name is “No”

1A7E9E33-5E9D-4E91-88AD-0AA32703F629.jpegDon’t ask me for my number.

Don’t ask me to call you sometime.

Don’t ask me if I like Shibari.

Don’t ask me if I’ll send you a nude pic

Don’t ask me to sext with you at work.

Don’t ask me to phone you at 3 am and call you Daddy, with my panties pulled down as I touch myself.

Don’t wonder to yourself if I’m thinking about you as I type these words.

‘Cause my former self jumped off that blue bridge over the Connecticut River that night and ended things in the icy waters below.

Nice to meet you, my name is ‘No.’

Time of death 8:00 pm


I haven’t been the same since she left.  There is a hole in my heart I can’t seem to repair.   She was always my touchstone, my North Star.  The one I turned to for advice on all matters.   She was far more intelligent than I, she was a born diplomat, she was articulate and refined.

She had Grace.

When she came home 3 years ago and told me that she had ALS, I was silently horrified.  For I knew exactly what fate would lie ahead for my mom.

No cure.  No treatment.   Ascending paralysis beginning in each limb, until one day her esophagus would no longer work and her diaphragm would no longer move….. She would slowly starve and suffocate.

Even when you know the storm is coming you can just never fully prepare for its wrath.

Watching her lose more and more,  over and over again and being helpless to stop it, became gut wrenching.  At one point she asked a family member to shoot her, in a moment of despair.  For she had just lost the ability to wipe her bottom on the toilet.

I never felt that she was never a burden to me, I would have sawed off both my right leg and arm to help her.

She left two months ago, and the time of death was called at 8:00 pm, yet it feels like the clock has stood still for me.   That night is frozen, crystallized in my mind.

I watched her those last 2 days as her feet became mottled.  Her breathing became more shallow and stopped frequently.   That last day her fingertips and toes began to turn a bluish color and the nurse confirmed death was only hours away.

I had just finished reading Psalm 91 aloud to her.  She took comfort in that particular Book.  She could still hear us.  This we had proved with a smile she gave when we asked her for a photo.  When I read the last line of Psalm 91, she breathed her last.

I fell into her as if I was a child again.  “Mommy! Oh Mommy! Don’t go! I love you!!” I pleaded,  as I clung onto her and hugged her tightly.

We all sat with her while waiting until the funeral home came to get her.  But the nurses came in to say they needed to “get her ready”.   So I asked what that involved.  They explained they would be washing her body.

So I volunteered my sister, I, and my aunt to do it.   What in the hell was I getting us into.  Apparently now I’m a whiz at cleaning a dead body? WTF?

By this point, my mom did not look like herself anymore.  Her skin tone had already changed to a light ashen yellow grayish color except for her extremities which continued to get more blue-purple by the minute.   Her mouth was agape and would not close no matter how many times I tried to close it.  My sister kept ordering me to shut it and I told her, “It just pops back open you fool!” Her hair began to look more like straw than hair, no matter how I brushed it.   The way you might a doll’s hair.

People always say that the deceased just look like they are sleeping, but I am here to tell you she did not.  She looked lifeless and she did not look like my mom any more.   This was only 1 hour post-mortem. The nurse handed  us some towels and explained that when we rolled her, we need to place a towel over her mouth in case some fluids leak out.  And also that she may have lost control of bowel and bladder.  Alrighty then!

As I stood there gloved up ready to wash my beloved mom,  I felt scared shit.  I thought , “I’m not as brave as I thought.”   Mom was the brave one who had this disease kick the shit out of her for three years non-stop and never gave up.  Bearing that in mind, I did my best to just suck it up and remember that my mom deserved the best care, til the very end. With that I jumped right in.

I knew then, in that moment as I was washing her naked body that all that she was,  had transcended this world.   That indeed, she was gone.   That I was cleaning the vehicle which had carried her soul for so many years.   I was strangely aware that somehow she knew that,  from wherever she was.   She was proud of us for the respect and homage we paying her through what we were doing.   We redressed her in a lavender colored brand new night gown, her favorite color.  We put her favorite soft wool socks on her feet.   We all gave her one last kiss goodbye.

When the funeral home came with the stretcher and black body bag with that long metal zipper.   I decided to leave.  I instinctively knew that I would never be able to get that image out of my head.  So I took my little sister and my aunt by the hand and told them we had done all we could and that it was time to go.   That was the longest corridor I have ever walked,  away from that room.   I told both of them we are going to get in the car and no one is going to turn around to look back.

No one did.

Still,  I have to say I don’t have things all tidied up in some neat little bow.  What is after this? Oh I believe there is something.  I believe in God.  Where it this place you go? what it’s like, I would’nt pretend to know.

I know that I miss her terribly, I feel lost without her here.  I talk to her but want so desperately for her to talk back.  All I can do is hope that one day that will happen. That one day I can see her again.



The first one

Theres always a first for everything I guess.

The first time you ride a bike.

The first kiss.

The first time you get lost on a road trip.



It was 1985 and I was fifteen.  I was a young fifteen though.  My father’s mom had passed away that summer.  She was first generation Italian.  She had left 7 sons.  Growing up my family seemed a lot like the Sopranos.  The kitchen was always the center of the house, smoke-filled.  The men sat around the table and the women cooked and talked.  The smoke was so thick that us kids took to sitting underneath the tables so we could breathe more easily.  My grandma died in the operating theatre and never made it through surgery.  It was the first time I ever saw my dad cry when he received the phone call.

When I got to the funeral home, it smelled like eucalyptus and carnations.  I never forgot the smell, it was so stifling it made me gag.   Yankee Candle needs to come up with a scent called “funeral home” because there hasn’t been a wake since that I’ve been to that hasn’t had the same wake-y smell.   I saw the casket but avoided it.  I could hear my uncle in the bathroom moaning “ohhhh the agita…..” as he popped more Tums.

Eventually two of my uncles literally shoved me and my cousin up to the casket and told us to pay our respects.  We knelt down, scared shit.  Grandma didn’t look like grandma.  Her hands clasping her rosary beads.  My uncles standing behind us with their commentary, “They didn’t do a good job on her, the make up isn’t right, it’s too orange.”   and  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, she’s seeping! I want to talk to the Goddamn director where is that son-o-fa-bitch.”    All I could think of was what the hell is seeping? Then in one horrifying moment my uncle  jumped into the coffin and kissed her.

I whispered to my cousin, “how long do we have to kneel here?”  she whispered back “I don’t know, enough to say a Hail Mary and an Our Father?”    Then she did the unthinkable, she touched grandma’s hand and said, “she’s cold and stiff.”   So then I did the unthinkable and I touched her hand.  It was cold and stiff.  I think I closed my eyes and my prayer was something like, “dear God, please let me stop kneeling because my grandma isn’t here and I don’t know where she is but I know she’s not here and this is just creepy.  Amen.”

The only good thing was the reception after the wake where thw grown-ups  got loaded and we got some good food at the Chinese restaurant.



I wonder what lies beyond this life?  I sure hope all that I am, my consciousness will go on, transcend to some place else.  It would be a damn shame if it didn’t…..

The return of “S”


Can you believe he returned out of the abyss of how many months having passed…..November?

Sending me an email asking how I am doing.

I don’t know why I am shocked, but I am.

Attached with said email was a beautiful song:it was quite beautiful actually.

I think I should dub him the “disappearing man.”

He spoke of existential angst over spending most of his life alone and fear of his mortality.

I wrote back and let him know that his disappearing act and inability to deal with fallout

from discord from his disappearances is a good bet why his has spent most of his life alone.

surprise surprise, he didn’t write back.


On another note “B” left.

After promising not to leave.

After promising not to yell.

After promising he would “never do anything to hurt me.”

Too many promises broken in such a short amount of time should have been a giant red flag right there.

Too many promises broken period.

He told me when he met me, “my word is my bond.”

Then when he has repeatedly broke his word he said, “yes I did, but you had antagonized me and pissed me off.”

apparently for some,  it only turns out that people only keep their word under certain emotional conditions.

wish I was aware of that little caveat


I don’t know who is worse, me for telling my life story in the first five minutes to a man who doesn’t deserve the trust.

or this man who tells me he loves me and won’t hurt me in the first five minutes after hearing it.


But let’s not thump on poor B shall we.  I am no prize package.  I am insecure, clingy, hide my low self-self esteem behind a well practiced false bravado.   My moods swing like a monkey on a chandelier when I don’t get enough sleep.     I should probably just join a monastic sect somewhere, and live Lord of the Flies style, free of the trappings of society with my dildo.


the problem is, the trees don’t hug you back on the island……

Cave Allegory

There are so many songbirds out there who have departed this world.  Who could sing far better than Whitney.

Buried in unnamed plots.  Perhaps they died by the bottle or the pill.

Do we hear about them all over the fucking news?

No we don’t.

They go unmentioned.  Not even a bell even rings for them.

I tire of hearing about Whitney Houston.

I don’t disrespect her family or their grief.

But for fuck’s sake, really now.

Who really gives a shit whether she had drugs in her system.

Is that really headline news?

I mean is that what people consider newsworthy????!!!

Is that what the sheeple want?

To be spoon-fed sensationalistic bullshit.


This is why I don’t have my TV plugged in.

It sits collecting dust.

Remembering a post I wrote on my other blog several years ago and it seems so timely…


I was thinking about Plato’s

prisoners shackled in front of the parapet

competing to interpret the shadows.


Times have changed a bit….

Today’s prisoners are still shackled by apathy

 and now isolation, in front of the TV,

competing to interpret their favorite episodes.

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