the last goodbye

Death doesn't give a final boarding call, an exact time of departure. I didn't think that Sunday night might've been my last goodbye to my friend, the Landlord. It was our last time together where he was lucid, actually joining us around the dining table and telling jokes even though his pain had increased and he was so frail I couldn't see how he could sit up let alone walk to the table.

He knew it would be the last time he'd remember my presence even if I was a little vague on that fact, thinking he'd be the same when I saw him in a day or two. There was a look he gave me, the same look another friend had given me the last time I saw her. At that time, I thought her look was "I wish I was staying at your house where there isn't a dog" but the Landlord gave me that same look so I've had to rethink the meaning.

They were knowing looks. Our eyes locked. I guess they were goodbyes.

I've never watched someone die before. I've lost many friends but they either died suddenly - heart attacks at 40, cancer at 35 - or they lingered and I wasn't around for the end, either off in another state or the family closed ranks not letting in outsiders. This time I feel privileged to be one of the watchers. Yesterday we sat in shifts, never leaving him alone. The house was very quiet and peaceful. Everyone focused on the man in the bed, now too ill to be conscious of our presence. No, that's not right. We believe he is. We were talking about him and Angel said "speak slowly. I think he's trying to follow your conversation." So we slowed down. "You always told the shelter volunteers to leave their egos and agendas at home." Things like that.

I left around seven, the Landlord in the capable and strong hands of his lover, his ex-partner and his current partner, a friend from the east coast. Four loving men, some of them having gone through this before, watching lovers die.

I think that was my last goodbye.