6 January, 2002, #3

6 January, 2002, #3

Jet plane engines in ears mostly pained by
Numerous infections from the past. One
Simple moment remembered: the last good-bye
I grabbed your hand, punched the ICU doors
And stomped to the elevator. I cried like a
Baby, pushed the doors open to drizzle, and drove
Back to Surfside #108. A well decorated pad,
We slept on your bed when you could not.

The deal now is to get Mom going again, keep Dad’s
Head above water, let Billy make a statement,
Call Nancy every night, hug Mike and demand that
We play some tournament every year, greet
Dibby with a fond hello, shake each day like
A ripe cantaloupe, until we’re sure we get the
Most from it, and throw the largest, biggest
Stu-bash come July 25th. Calendars duly marked.

Once again, somehow, I was granted the very
Best of your time. We talked about the Gators
Romp (56-23) over Maryland, and you even
Said “I’ll talk to you when I can.” In fact,
That’s the last thing you ever said to me. Perhaps
The next few weeks of writing will be nothing
More than an extended conversation with our personal
Angel. Is heaven as good as time spent with you?

Copyright, Doug Stuber, 2002. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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