Hospice.

I'm keeping a running log of tweets while staying at a Hospice center with a family member. There is so much here that doesn't make it to the world outside of the ill, dying. So much of the things that happen here loom larger than everything else.

  1. I am in a Hospice center. The place where people literally come to die. Half-empty boxes of tissues rest on the wooden tables.
  2. A baby grand sits quietly, patiently in the middle of the room. The halls are near silent, punctuated by snores, occasional moans.
  3. I can't sleep. I'm reading Tuesdays With Morrie; a non-fiction recounting of a man dying. Words to fill my head, in place of the wordless.
  4. The nurses walk softly, speak softly. Occupation: warrior of compassion. Midwives in death's waiting room.
  5. "Life is and then we tell ourselves a story." –Susan Gregg
  6. I understand @xeni's desire to document her disease; in retelling the story of what is, you become the arbiter of your own fate once again.
  7. Here, there is nothing but matters out of your control; the desire to document is deafening.
  8. ——————————————————————————————
  9. Day two of hospice. This place must be full of ghosts.
  10. In ancient Rome, slaves would trail parading generals fresh from a war victory, whispering: memento mori. Remember you will die. #stayhumble
  11. In the unfairness of death, there exists a fairness of a kind: regardless of circumstance or privilege, death comes for us all. #equalrites
  12. "The truth is, once you learn how to die, you learn how to live." pic.twitter.com/VSf3gj8S
  13. RT @damienechols: How did a year pass so quickly? It seems like just a few days ago. The wheel turned in the blink of an eye. I'm still ...
  14. Time stops here, suspended. Ironically there are large clocks adorning every room, and a large grandfather clock in the main hall. #hospice
  15. When I tell people a family member is in #hospice, they fall silent, robbed of speech. It's okay, I respond. There are no words for this.
  16. Usually I say nothing. It feels like throwing a land mine in the middle of someone's day, beyond social etiquette. Reminders of the unknown.
  17. Here, I'm pitching words into the darkness. Triangulating the unknown with language, pins on a shadowy map. Stalking it. Memorizing shapes.
  18. A woman on the phone next to me: " I just want to see you enjoy every little bit of your life." …she was crying earlier, hurrying outside.
  19. "I love you so, so, so, so much. Just pray. That's all. I miss you." Hard to tell if she is a visitor or a patient.
  20. Most of the patients are obvious. The way the people in their vicinity bend to their gravity. Miniature tribes, huddling in packs.

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olga nunes

i write sad jump rope songs. specializing in singing with a minor in handclapping.

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