Definitive end

monshu passed away at home late in the evening of December 9th. Because it took about an hour-and-a-half for the nurse to arrive to certify him, his death date will officially be December 10th. But you know the truth.

Because he is peerless, my friend bitterlawngnome has posted a tribute to monshu in his own journal using photographs from our one-and-only meeting in Toronto in 2011. The occasion was the Old Man's 65th birthday. At the time we expected him to live well past 70, but fate makes a mockery of all our plans.

When I realised he was not going to begin breathing again, I fell into a state of disbelief. When the nurse came and held a stethoscope to his chest, I told her, "I'm just waiting for you to confirm he's not in a coma or something." (NB: Corpses don't cool off as quickly as you might think.) When she shook her head, I felt an immense relief. At times, the stress of the last eight months has been barely tolerable. Every time I wished it would end, it occurred to me that there was only one way for that to happen, and I concluded that was worse.

I've spent most of the last couple days chattering away with people, mostly monshu's sister and niece who are in town until Tuesday. Less than an hour each day has been devoted to ugly crying. I figure that's a ratio I can keep up almost indefinitely, as long as I keep picking the right songs to listen to. Thursday we cremate him, assuming there are no snags in the process. I'll wait for better weather to scatter him. The one-hundredth day after his death will be March 19th (which is coincidentally the feast of St Joseph, his patron saint), and that seems as good a day as any.

This coming week will be for attending to the details, tidying up my mess of an apartment, and reconnecting with the many many friends who I've seen too briefly if at all over the past year. Or maybe I'll just spend half of every day lying in bed listening to Siouxsie Sioux and Magnetic Fields. Who the hell's going to stop me?