I recently went to the funeral of an amazing man. His name was Rick. The funeral was extremely difficult for me. You see, the preacher didn’t know him or connect to his spirit. Sadly, she mostly talked about herself. Rick deserved better, so let me tell you about him now.
Rick was a devout Christian. He grew great weed and had a passion for 80’s rock like no one I’ve ever met. He would blare it from the speakers, but struggled to twist the knobs.
He was wheelchair bound and hadn’t been able to walk in 20 years. At the age of 30 he was diagnosed with muscular dystrophy (MD) which slowly atrophied his muscles. He was a handsome man, a little overweight, 6 feet tall, and had long, thin white braids. His smile brightened everyone’s day.
The machine that lifted him was connected to the ceiling above his bed and went into the bathroom. It had to come under his knees and under his arms and it would lift him up out of bed and take him to the toilet. I would have to put on gloves to lift him with the machine and wipe his ass. He would eat his breakfast there, it was easier for him if he could sit on the pot, drink his Monster with a straw, and turn up a Van Morrison video from the small flat screen that hung just above the sink. He also had an old stereo with a CD on top and tape cassette. He had enough mobility when he was bent over to get his hands up and accomplish small but meaningful tasks Iike having a toke of his weed. The machine could put him in his tub. He loved his tub. I loved washing his hair. He would say, “Now give me some good head!” I would laugh. he said dirty things like that throughout the course of the 6 months before his death. Inappropriate, yes, but I understood with all of my human heart.
Towards the end we would cuddle, and I would tickle his arms. He was in so much pain. One night I put him on his side and held him and stroked his hair. He said I had no idea how much that helped and took away the pain. It was hard at times and I chose not to fill a few shifts because I knew he was not long for this world. I now know that the pain of not being there for him is far less than all the failed opportunities to talk about what he wanted to be remembered by. Hell, his family didn’t want him to even know he was dying. The preacher didn’t even mention his intense passion for the sun. Any day the sun was out was the grandest of gifts to his soul. He would pout like a child when the sun was gone, but always let the negative thoughts go as fast as they came.
He was awesome and he lived an awesome life, and no one talked about it. So, I want to help you to talk about it, plan it, be honest to the core about it. What regrets or amazing things do you hold true to yourself or loved one? Who do you want us to remember?
