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  • I remember another time, a different time.
    When you were in the hospital, before this time, and I came to visit.
    They were running tests and they would not, could not, feed you.
    “I am so hungry,” you said, “I wish it was you lying here in bed so I could go get something to eat.”
    It was almost a joke but not quite.
    And I thought, to myself, “It is not my time.”

    It had almost been my time once, almost twice before.
    The first time was all life and death serious, big medicine guns and statistics.
    My arms swollen up like balloons, propped up on pillows, and hard to move.
    The Vena Cava was blocked by pressure from a tumor, and that created “Vena Cava Syndrome.”
    They have a name for it, because it happens often enough to name it.
    Basically, I began to drown inside my own body.
    This is what Congestive Heart disease does too.
    I have walked in your shoes, once, and they are heavy.

    In those days I needed to sleep, but at night it was hard to let go, it was too quiet and very lonely.
    The drugs and the fear created a vertigo that felt like falling, not into comfort but into uncertainty.
    It was my cat that became my guide to sleeping, sometimes with one eye open, watching the door to check for demons, and waiting until they passed by muttering to themselves, “It’s not yet time.”

    I hear that night is keeping you up and on your guard.
    4am is known as the hour of the wolf, we are not wrong to be afraid.
    Somewhere though, there is a place of trust. I can only hope that when it is time, the gift you received once will receive you again.
    And, in time we will all be in your shoes, following in your footsteps.
    True Democracy!

    If you turn to look back, you will see the future.
    I am there. I am with you.
    And you will be there with me, someday.
    When it is, finally, my time.
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