Sweet Relief

I

“I’ve had a lot of false starts,” he said. The blinds on the window were yellow from smoke. The cigarette burned in his hand then orange brightened the end when he took a drag. Noticing his shoes and taking his hands to his face to stop the shaking he said “but I’ve never lacked for love and I’ve always tried my best.”

II

It was Wednesday, June 15^th. The doctor’s appointment was scheduled for 11:45am but all parties probably knew it would do absolutely no good. There was a lack of hope among them; one that seemed to be inborn at times. But they would go through the motions: vitals check, blah blah blah, questions, drinking… What was the point? Wasn’t it some philosopher that said death is sweet relief? Why wait for sweet relief?

III

Wasn’t it Leo Buscaglia that said “I don’t brood over death, I’m too busy living?” Death may be sweet relief but it is permanent when you take it so, measure twice, cut once as they say. They say that, it’s a saying. Anyway [insert lip curl to the side] the point is that he rebounded, made a few changes, got out of the house a little bit more, seemed on the upswing. For as much as the hopelessness seemed inborn, there was a love of laughter and a wistfulness about them that could make them incredibly magnetic at times. When they were on like this, people loved to be around them. They were, in technical terms, a hoot. 

IV

When this “hootiness” ended, on an individual and on a group level is the issue.¹ It ended for him so they were there in the hospice room when he weighed 140lbs and had trouble breathing as the sweet relief drugs took effect. Was the loss of hootiness a gradual process born out over years of false starts and bad decisions and negligence to others and self or was it like a band aid: right off!? Does it matter? Relief is here.

American Psychiatric Association. (2013). Diagnostic and
     statistical manual of mental disorders (5th ed.). Washington, DC:
     Author.

Text citation: (American Psychiatric Association, 2013)