My oldest friend's Mama is not doing well.

We all thought she had that damnable cancer close to remission. She'd done
so well on radiation; she got energy, appetite, new hair, she was on track
with PT, came home to her sons and beloved dog Benny. Randy and Mike haven't
called me in eons, and who can blame them? But when I went to see them
yesterday and jokingly berated them for it, I realized what a colossal
blunder that was. Note to myself, and the feet I put in my mouth: humor
doesn't always soften things...

Dehydrated and weakened, in enough pain to cut off everything Joycie had
been sent to Buffalo General late April to have a morphine pump installed
and get some pain management in preparation for PT, with hopes to be out
around Mothers' Day. Instead they released her to Deaconess Center, where
two things can happen. You can rehab, or it's the last round-up. Joycie's
not rehabbing.

When we saw her yesterday, she looked like her own ghost. That is, if a
ghost can have spots that look like the beginnings of melanomas from
metastasis. Her breathing is so shallow that it's barely perceptible.  A few
weeks ago, she was working on motor control by coloring. Randy tells me she
can't move enough to hold a crayon any more. She can't walk. She's damn near
comatose, wakes up enough to mumble something incoherent and is again
unconscious.

I don't blame Randy for being bitter. He said last night that Joycie doesn't
deserve this, and he's right: even when she was dirt-poor, she never turned
away anyone in need, and somehow God took care of her. She and those kids
never starved, despite being on welfare and no child support from the
filthbag who left her for a trophy wife. When my mother was losing it from
Alzheimers she became mother, lecturer and disciplinarian to me, like she
did for all Randy's friends. Even when our small town neighbors gave her the
backs of their collective hands, she was gracious. She didn't give up her
faith even when the priest refused to come bless her house after telling her
that she didn't give enough to her parish--how could she, being on state aid
and three boys to feed? Let the rich folk build the stained glass and polish
the gold, they could afford it...

Benny, as if knowing something's wrong, had a seizure two days ago, the
light's gone from his eyes and his tail doesn't wag as vigorously as it did
a few weeks ago.

We are beyind praying for a cure. It ain't coming. Pray she go without pain,
and that there be some end to the bitterness that my friends are feeling,
all the anger they have stored away. Randy's partner Mike has next to no
family, Joycie's all he's got, it's like a beloved mother-in-law going. I'm
worried for him too.

Please send up a few for the Brauers. Even Benny. They all need a few good
purrs from a few good people.

Blessed be.

Baha

Three thousand years ago,
cats were deified in ancient Egypt.
To this day, they have not forgotten.