Sunday I had a visit from the husband of the woman with leukemia (they were going to stay with me while she recovered from bone marrow transplant surgery, but she took a turn for the worse).  He called but I didn't answer the phone so he drove over anyway.   (Hint, hint, buddy, when someone doesn't answer your calls, that means they don't want to talk to you.)

  He came in and presented me with a book.  It's a collection of his and his wife's stories and poems.  He talked.  And talked.  He talked about how he met his first wife.  How he met his second wife before he split with the first.  How he met _____ while he was still  married to the 2nd.  Then he started telling me how he wasn't sure he could get married again after this. 

She is dying, but she's not dead yet.  And he's already ruminating his chances of remarriage.   I can't remember his exact words, maybe it was his body language or other cues from his eyes, but I gotta tell you -- I was getting creeped out by the time he left (one and a half hours of listening to this man drone on and on about every fucking detail of his entire life).  I honestly thought he was trying to impress me -- you know, like coming on to me.

It's been my experience that when a man tells people all the time about how much he loves his wife, it's because he really only loves himself but wants to make women think he's some kind of really sweet guy.  (Been there -- husband #4).   And when a man talks about the books he's written in terms of the number of words, well . . . that's just weird.

 Oh, and the book?  He prints it out on his laser printer and has it bound at Kinko's or something.  But he IS a writer.  And his books are bound -- technically published.  So, that just makes him really special, doesn't it?  Husband #4 had cds, too.  Of course, he only sold them to relatives and drunks at gigs who thought he was just great, man, just great.

So you tell me -- read this email from him and tell me what you think it means:

 (He's talking about having a conversation with a nurse)

      I told her about the vision which I had early Sunday morning at 2:30.  ______ was in room 23, 8 inch letters above patio doors, the end of each ICU room was glass.  What I saw was light ten times brighter than daylight shining from her room.  I knew that her angel or maybe more than one angel were taking her spirit up from her body.  I told this to everyone I met on  Sunday.  Today the RN mentioned that what I had said about the dream was confirmed by the breathing machine which indicated that at that time she lost the ability to breath on her own.  In other words she was brain dead.

Today I also met with various people over a period of an hour and a half.  I talked to an MD by phone and gave him permission to disconnect life supports.  He called the RN back and she wrote an order for "comfort care" only.  The dialysis machine was turned off at 2:45pm.  Then one by one the 20 odd IV bags were disconnected until only one remained.  I held her hand and watched as the monitor showed her pulse slowly go from 64 beats per minute to 32 beats per minute.  Then the monitor read 0.  I also noticed her breathing go from normal, because of the machine which was breathing for her, to her not breathing at all.  She died at 3:33pm.  Did you know that your name, Sarah, means "princess of God?"

Did you know that your name, Sarah, means "princess of God?"

Are you kidding me?  Not even a new paragraph!  Just swung right into it -- oh by the way, you're a princess of God.

He's not aware of the fact that I do not believe in God, and yes, I fucking well knew it meant that except that in Hebrew is spelled Sarai.

Another reason why I will never be in another relationship.  I still attract these totally self-absorbed egomaniacal nutjobs.  It's a wonder Gordon hasn't come on to me.  (or Dr. Amy)

And I'm sorry his wife died.  I'm glad he was there holding her hand.  I really think she died a few days ago, though.