My own acceptance; The countdown

For months, I would lie down to sleep, only to grapple with a racing mind that drove me to get up and write.  Now, I sit down to write and cannot fight the desperate need to sleep. I cannot fathom the kind of fatigue Terry now succumbs to every hour of the day, but my own exhaustion is unlike any I've ever known.  Check out the dark caverns beneath my eyes when next we meet. Watch me as I plod sadly along.  This is agony.

Somewhere, a cosmic countdown has begun and I have failed in my efforts to stop it.  He has reached the point where living sucks more than the idea of dying does, and soon he will make that transition.  I think it will be a mercy for all of us. I hate it.. I hate this.  But, truthfully, I have lost him already.

The radiation to his brain is changing him fundamentally.  He cannot find his words, yet holds us captive as he tries to angrily sputter his thoughts to us aloud.  He has a great deal to say, and does so with conviction.  The problem is, it is nearly unintelligible.

Incontinent and malnourished, he vomits and vomits and retches until tears roll down his cheeks. His hands are twisted into claws that constantly scratch at his flaking skin of face and neck.  Yet I have to take him for another radiology blast in an hour.  Stop, already.  Stop. 

The will is still unsigned, and the Trust documents too.  Even his healthcare directive that was prepared months ago molders on the desk.  The countdown continues.