Tom ~ Funeral

It was bitter cold this afternoon as we filed out to the gravesite. Sheets of snow flew at us in the brisk westwind as we stood waiting for the large crowd of mourners to congregate. The minister stood there bravely with snow in his face waiting to say the Our Father. Then, individually we approached the open grave. I stood and looked down at the coffin now lowered to its earthen resting place. I didn't take the little shovelful of earth or the holy water sprinkler, but just stood there and looked down for five seconds, then made way for the next mourner.

As If He Were Still There ~

Made my way back to Tom's house this morning. Delivered a note of sympathy from my wife. Told Alice how much I admired her loving perseverence during the long ordeal. A short embrace. Then I went to the cemetery and stood looking at the pile of earth with flowers on it. Numb.

Tom ~ Passage

It was a cold winter afternoon but full of sunlight and reddish streaks of cloud. Tom passed away at noon. I had been there during the morning hours. Tom was breathing laborously and already seemed distant. His family of six was at his bedside. A candle. Death came on tiptoe and took him without a struggle. . . I walked home and sat quietly at the piano and played Bach's Wenn ich einmal soll scheiden while the evening darkness set in.

Tom's Family ~

Tom's wife and family of six are there this weekend. His oldest daughter has a bad cold and must keep her distance. Poor Kathrin, his wife, is exhausted. Tom was doing so well this morning that I could tell him about Harold Pinter's Nobel Prize Acceptance Speech. The red flag went up, as usual in our conversations in the past on that theme, and he had to grab for the oxygen mask. Then the smirk and wink.

Tom - Critical Condition ~

Yesterday Tom almost passed away. Had a critical breathing attack. The doctor came but said he had now reached the end of his medical know-how. He gave Tom an injection, some medication, too. Told him the only thing would be to send him to the hospital for resuscitation. Tom rejected that. Wanted to be at home with his family.

Now today Tom was well. Had had a good night, breakfast, felt strong. Had that old smirk on his face when I told him about our awful choir performance.

Astonishing, how peaceful he is. Never complains. Taking everything in stride. No fear. No drama, little emotion. Well aware that death is near. It would seem as if abundant help coming from elsewhere.

Tom - The Night

He was awakened at 2 a.m. gasping for breath. After that couldn't get back to sleep for fear it would return. Was drowsy during my visit and slept most of the time. Came away with the feeling we are losing contact.

Tom - Music

In his situation Tom said that he doesn't care to hear music, not even classical. The only music he can listen to is Gregorian chant. Tom is Protestant and his tradition is anything other than Gregorian. He said that the chant makes him peaceful and carries him off.

Tom's Son ~

Today Tom told me a surprising story about his 15 year old son who, up until now, has had problems in school. His performance was always below average, he had no desire to learn, this parents had spent countless hours tutoring him but with hardly any success, dyslexia. Now suddenly in the last weeks there has been a complete turnaround. He has caught fire and is doing exceptionally well in school.

Tom - Every Day Now

Been making the visits every day now. Fit it into my schedule. It is very important.

Tom - Up ~

Using morphine. Oxygen. Plus the blood transfusion. Two good nights in a row. Even food is tasting good now. Gaining some weight.

Why Auschwitz?

My Auschwitz poem that has lain fallow for a long time keeps coming back, especially now with Tom facing death. Was thinking about how to make the reader see the location from a new perspective, as a mountain. Tom always comes back to that topic. Talks of circling paths. A sacred mountain.

Tom - Mountain Climbing ~

Tom's day in the hospital was terrible. He's home now. He couldn't even tell me about it for fear he would get excited and lose his breath. We just sat there. On constant oxygen now. I held his hand. No talking. Towards the end I remembered mountain climbing. . . Tom loved the mountains and for years he had done a lot of perilous climbing in the Swiss Alps. I mentioned the word "rope party" and told him I was a late-comer but was now in it with him. We're climbing, setting one foot in front of the other. Slowly. At 4,000 meters the air is thin. One step, ten breaths. Snow. Alone on the rope with the rope party. Lose the path maybe, or no path, no vision. Just the burning desire to reach the summit.

Tom - Blood

They're taking Tom back to the hospital today for a blood transfusion. Tomorrow morning he will be at home again and asked me to be there when he gets back.

Tom - Shun the Dying

Tom said that when people hear that he is dying they tend to keep their distance. Reiterated how much he appreciated my visits. Proof of real friendship. He told me about another friend who couldn't come to visit because his job has him traveling all the time. He said he told him that my visits also counted as his. Somehow, in Tom's present way of seeing things, this was a true statement and the friend was consoled.

Morning with Tom ~

Tom's wife asked me to sit with him while she was away. It was amazing how collected and at peace he was. In spite of the turbulant past everything had come into focus now and Tom was happy as I had never seen him before. He looked into my eyes and assured me.

Two Kinds of Prayer ~

The submissive kind: accepting what comes as God's will. Willing to comply.
The insistent kind: begging to be heard, tenacious, falling at the Lord's feet and imploring...and not letting go until He hears.

Tom and I fall into these respective categories. Tom is struggling, begging. When I see how positive things are developing I think the Lord might just be hearing his prayer.

Tom ~

Walked over to visit Tom today. About a half hour's walk. Gives me time to mull things over. Always apprehensive about how I will find him. Saw his doctor this morning standing out in front of his office, cell phone in hand, then getting in his car. Thought he was off to Tom's bedside. No, Tom was in good shape this morning. Said he got up, walked downstairs and breakfasted before lying down. "I feel just great", he said.

Tom - Consolation?

One feels so helpless. What can I say to Tom that has meaning? Give consolation, strengthen faith. I end up saying nothing of real value. I told him that. He was saddened and said I was all wrong. He appreciated every minute of my visits. It was just the presence and my quiet response to his condition and fate that made him so happy, he said. He wanted to make sure I understood that. We held hands for a long time.

Tom ~

Tom was suprisingly well today. Was listening to the radio, had read some newspaper. Could eat. No bottle hanging over the bed. Refused to go back to the clinic [they wanted to start chemo today and radiation]. Said he was happy to be home and "in God's hands".

Tom - Wanted to be at Home

Tom is at home now. His own decision to leave the clinic. The doctors said staying or leaving was up to him. He looks frail and pallid. Bundled up under blankets. On the bedstand a saucer with morcels of bread, that's all that he can eat. Nutrition from a bottle hanging over the bed. Happy to be home amidst his family of six.