Things were going smoothly this evening, but Rick has been vomiting on and off now, and decided to sleep in the living room chair alone. I am going to sit with him in silent company until he falls asleep.

My aunt just asked if he wanted me to stay with him for a while, to which he responded "that's up to her" in his crackly voice. This is his way of saying "yes" these days. I am glad to be here.

"Mirror neurones are a layer of brain cells which act as a reflection, both of our own actions and moods, and of actions and moods which we observe. We actually think that this is the physical basis for empathy and emotional understanding -- this is the brain structure which allows us to understand what other people are feeling and thinking, by observing them. The strength of the response of mirror neurones in the average person, however, is moderated by emotional connection. If we are observing someone we actively dislike, the response is significantly weakened; the appropriate neurons fire, but not in as dense a pattern or for particularly long. If we are observing someone we care about, the reverse is true -- the mirror neurones fire more densely and for longer. In the cases where people report feeling "sympathy pains", there is some evidence that the firing of the mirror neurones is actually having a real effect on the neurotransmitters released in the brain."

My body aches brittle.

large as life an' twice as natural

I am watching my Uncle Rick as he rests in a chair next to me. He is bone thin, with a swollen face and tubes in many an orifice. He's lightly rocking back and forth in his chair, eyes closed, hands fidgeting, and seems crumpled and tiny. Three years ago he was buoyant and even as a kid I always thought he had a very youthful face, rosy cheeks and all. Always with beer in hand, the youngest of five kids, working on his Camaro, and laughing with his wife.

As I write this my Aunt Janice is switching on his breathing machine and the

huuumm huuumm huuum

is somehow calming, although I have grown to hate just about every type of medical equipment. The way it looks, staring back at you blankly as if to say

"I've seeeen this before, it doesn't bother meee".

It smells, it smells sweet and heavily of decay to the point of taste coating your mouth.


Yesterday morning I was reading Whitman on the green expanse of the family lawn, when I realized that I had locked myself out of the house. It was humid, thick and bright in that mid-western way and I was very thirsty. After deliberation, I resolved to pick a tomato from my aunt's garden, and pump water out of the hose. I realized that it was suddenly 1907 at that moment and this gave me an excitement, so I marched down the gravel road to the creek. I passed by grunting cows fattened with summer and eyes filled with flies. I passed the red barn, and the crunch of gravel under my soles gave me a satisfied feeling. I made friends with the shade of some large tree and ran my hands through the pebbles in the clear stream. The creek is quickly becoming a favorite spot of mine.

The 70's pop satellite station is constantly spewing out songs that Rick must have liked when he was in his 20's. 'I Love The Night Life' by Alicia Bridges is playing as thunder rolls above. It's just Rick and I in the living room. It's only 4:56pm, but the heavy clouds cast a dim light. I'm checking for the subtle and gentle rise and fall of his breathing as he sleeps deeply.

***

"One of the strange things about living in the world is that it is only now and then one is quite sure one is going to live forever and ever and ever. One knows it sometimes when one gets up at the tender solemn dawn-time and goes out and stands alone and throws one's head far back and looks up and up and watches the pale sky slowly changing and flushing and marvelous unknown things happening until the East almost makes one cry out and one's heart stands still at the strange unchanging majesty of the rising of the sun—which has been happening every morning for thousands and thousands and thousands of years. One knows it then for a moment or so."

***

He awoke and I turned on the lamp beside him.
"Let's get some light in here, it's dim and depressing"
He nodded.
I fed him Boost and Immunocal through his stomach tube, which is the most profitable feeling.
He's had 780 calories today, with 350 more this evening.
I asked him if the 70's were fun. He nodded, with what looked like a smile.



From moment to moment, and now it's pouring rain.