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Life has wore me out. Now it is time to lay down and rest. Thanks to all of you for being a friend.
If you stand for Freedom, but you wont stand for war, then you dont stand for anything worth fighting for.
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cossie
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On fire! |
Location: Exiled in North East Engl...
Registered: July 2003
Messages: 1699
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.... please check your inbox NOW!
For a' that an' a' that,
It's comin' yet for a' that,
That man tae man, the worrld o'er
Shall brithers be, for a' that.
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unsui
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Likes it here |
Registered: September 2007
Messages: 338
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No Message Body
[Updated on: Fri, 24 October 2008 19:56] |
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timmy
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Has no life at all |
Location: UK, in Devon
Registered: February 2003
Messages: 13800
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If that truly is the case, my friend, simply think of Dylan Thomas:
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And know that you are well loved.
Author of Queer Me! Halfway Between Flying and Crying - the true story of life for a gay boy in the Swinging Sixties in a British all male Public School
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marc
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Needs to get a life! |
Registered: March 2003
Messages: 4729
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Roger......
Please don't! I need to talk with you.....
I need you!!!!!
Life is great for me... Most of the time... But then I meet people online... Very few are real friends... Many say they are but know nothing of what it means... Some say they are, but are so shallow...
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Okay, I don't have all that much experience so I have to ask are you gut tired and going to retire from the Forum for a while, or is this a suicide warning?
If it's a suicide warning, why? I mean, why warn dudes unless you really are asking them to try to stop you?
I don't think committing suicide is such a great idea. Unexpected deaths in families are really terrible, and it creates all kind of problems for the dudes who are still here. Like paying up all your bills, and getting rid of all your stuff, and clearing out where you lived, and selling your car, and things like that. I mean, do you really want to make all that work for the people who liked and loved you?
Dude everybody gets down sometimes and that's part of life. If you need help dealing with things then ask but offing yourself isn't the answer.
But, I mean it's your life, ya know? If you're done here, you're done and there's not much needs to be said I guess. I would like to be able to say "see ya later" like we'll meet in heaven, but I don't believe in all that, so I guess it's adios amigo.
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I know you are tired and worn out, but please, I still need you.
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jack
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Likes it here |
Location: England
Registered: September 2006
Messages: 304
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Hi Roger.
we all get low i hope i have misread he situation.
but if i have not please reconsider life will be much different tomorrow.
if you have probes there are a lot of people here that can offer support.
life is to enjoy.
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timmy
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Has no life at all |
Location: UK, in Devon
Registered: February 2003
Messages: 13800
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I'm glad you are still around and posted in another thread. I know a few of us have the privilege of knowing perhaps a little too much of your health circumstances. I can see that they would try the patience of a saint.
I don't want you to go, my friend, in any of the senses of the word. Not without a fight, anyway.
Author of Queer Me! Halfway Between Flying and Crying - the true story of life for a gay boy in the Swinging Sixties in a British all male Public School
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marc
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Needs to get a life! |
Registered: March 2003
Messages: 4729
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I talked to Roger personally, It took several calls to finally get him but i did get thru about 5:30pm......
He is ...... OK...... All things considered..... He promised me he wouldnt do anything rash....
Thats all I can really say...... I don't want to break any confidences even if they are implied.....
I will be calling every day......
[Updated on: Sun, 30 September 2007 22:08]
Life is great for me... Most of the time... But then I meet people online... Very few are real friends... Many say they are but know nothing of what it means... Some say they are, but are so shallow...
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timmy
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Has no life at all |
Location: UK, in Devon
Registered: February 2003
Messages: 13800
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I know he is reading the forum. Perhaps one of the best things we can send him here and through you is our love.
Author of Queer Me! Halfway Between Flying and Crying - the true story of life for a gay boy in the Swinging Sixties in a British all male Public School
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marc
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Needs to get a life! |
Registered: March 2003
Messages: 4729
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Roger knows I love him....
I wish I could be there with him now....
If he needs me I will be there.... Nothing on this world could stop me.
Life is great for me... Most of the time... But then I meet people online... Very few are real friends... Many say they are but know nothing of what it means... Some say they are, but are so shallow...
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marc
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Needs to get a life! |
Registered: March 2003
Messages: 4729
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if you have IM's ..... AIM, YAHOO, windows live...... add me......
Life is great for me... Most of the time... But then I meet people online... Very few are real friends... Many say they are but know nothing of what it means... Some say they are, but are so shallow...
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I tried to reply to your personal letter Roger, but can't break through the BellSouth server. I tried everything I know, so you'll have to read this here in public. I'm sorry.
Dear Roger,
Like you, I think this should be kept off the Forum. other members have filled me in on your personal history, and the reasons for the posting and your disease.
You might have gathered that my Father is a physician. Before we three children were born, my Mother was a registered nurse. I know about your disease, and I know how debilitating and disheartening it can be. As the son of a truly dedicated and caring doctor I can tell you first hand that your doctors and nurses are even more discouraged and perhaps disheartened than you are. But...they aren't prepared to quit, and give up the fight, and I don't think you should be either. Roger, you cannot imagine how a physician feels when patients just give up. Physicians fight Roger.
I'd like to tell you a story. Last year, when I was just sixteen my two best friends Eldon and Daniel and I were out with two other, older boys named Brian and Hank. They were seniors then, and we felt flattered to be noticed and asked to hang out with them. Typical of teen aged males in the area of North Carolina where I live, we got some beer and started drinking. Then we decided to go for a drive. We got some more beer and did some more driving. The wonder of this is we didn't kill anyone, but taking Eldon home down a dark farm lane at three in the morning, we had an argument with a 200 year old oak tree, and proved that automobiles and trees cannot occupy the same space at the same time. The tree won.
The car turned over, we were thrown around inside, and Danny was knocked unconscious. All I could smell was gasoline, and I started screaming for the guys to get out, and Eldon and I dragged Danny out together. There was so much blood on us and Danny was so still, I thought he was dead. I will never, ever, ever in my life forget the feeling that I would never see or talk to my friend again.
My father arrived before the ambulances, and he looked at us and looked at the car, and burst into tears. Eldon's father was crying, at the hospital the other two boy's parents were crying. The four mothers were nearly hysterical. The local police let us go because our parents promised swift and immediate punishment. They knew the four fathers well enough to agree. Thank goodness all our injuries were superficial and we don't even have scars. At least scars you can see. I never, to this day, look at Danny and don't think how wonderful and precious his friendship is, and how thankful I am to have been given even one more day with him. One more.
I think your friends will say the same thing about you, and be thankful for all the days you can give them Roger. But there won't be many more days unless you fight.
Our fathers met in my Dad's library the night after the accident. We waited like condemned convicts in the hall. At last they called us in, and told us what had been decided. Life, they said, was more than raising hell across three counties, and drinking, and carousing. We went on driving restriction for six months, no dates and no driving other than pre-approved trips. And the approval was VERY hard to get, at least in my case. Then, from that day until we graduate high school, we have to give four hours a week in some kind of meaningful community service. My Dad, being a physician, had already arranged for my service to be at the hospice for terminally ill patients. Eldon does work with Down Syndrome and severely mentally impaired children, Hank does work in a local soup kitchen feeding the indigent, and Brian gives time helping to maintain public parks and recreation fields.
It hasn't been easy, working in cancer wards, changing the diapers of incontinent elderly men, and caring for AIDS patients. But, and this will sound corny as Kansas in July, the experience has made a man out of a spoilt, entitled, not-very-serious, flippant and generally irreverent boy. I would never tell my Father this, but I wouldn't have traded this experience for anything.
During my time working in the hospice, I've got to know several of my male patients, and one in particular. Mr. Dickens was an ancient African-American gentleman who had colon cancer which had metasticized through his whole body before he got any care at all. He lived alone in a tiny farm shack, in the north of the County. My father was his attending physician. We had a bantering friendly relationship, he didn't feel lessened as a man because he needed help, and I felt honored to be able to do what I could for him. He used to call me "t'boy." "No need t'do that, t'boy'll be here directly." "Boy, whatcha do t'day int'restin'? I needs t'hayr some int'restin' news boy!" "Boy, I ever tell yo' 'bout dat time yo' gran'pappy drov' dat Packard a' his int' t'rivah?"
I blogged my feelings for him, over the course of his decline, about his courage, and spirit, and how I learned dignity in the face of overwhelming adversity and about never giving up, and I'd like to share this last one with you...
I got a call late last night after I had written last night's blog entry. It was the night charge nurse at the hospice and she gave me the sad news that my friend Mr. Dickens had passed away in the coma. She asked me to come by the hospice on my way to school before she went home, because she had something for me.
I got there and she gave me Mr. Dicken's old pocket watch.
It's old and battered, and all the chrome is worn off the winder, and the glass on the face is cracked straight across, and it has a piece of old shoelace through the loop that he used to tie onto his belt. It's made by Ingersoll and I've never heard of them so it must be ancient. It was the only thing he brought with him to the hospital and I guess it was the only really valuable thing he owned. She told me he had asked her to "give this t'the boy when m'time is come." I can hear him say it, sitting here ya know? I'm trying like hell not to cry.
He fought that damned disease every inch of the way, and kept his sense of humor and faith. But you all know how I feel about him, siice i've been writing about him for months...
This isn't a really happy post like I try to write but I'm really sad today. I never got a chance to say goodby or anything. I told Davey and Ethan about it and they are sad too, but I guess they're sad for me and not him. I think I'm going to blog more about this and how I feel when I settle down a little.
Folks shouldn't have to die alone with nobody to miss them except some arrogant flippant kid who didn't want to be there to start with. I only hope none of my resentment showed in my face back when I started. My Dad said I have taken a step towards maturity today. I still feel like crying, so how mature is that? Fuck it.
Later today...
In English again. I''m still supposed to be commenting on Macbeth. This unit is dragging on and on. I can't get hooked on Shakespeare. Mega dull.
Well I did cry. In the cafeteria today of all places and in front of all my friends. I got through homeroom and the morning classes and we were all sitting at our usual table eating, and David asked to see the watch. So I took it out of my pocket and put it on the table and we all looked at it. I could feel the tears start welling up in my eyes, and thought if I let go, my rep is finished here because how unter cool is it for a boy to cry in school. I really tried to stop but a few ran down my face. Meghan came around and put her arms around my shoulders and kissed my cheek and told me it was okay, and he's in a better place now. I was thinking "this was all he had, the only thing of value to him, and he left it to me." I tried to tell the rest of them that but I couldnt get the words out.
Ethan said he thought it was the coolest gift the old dude could have given me.
David said I should take good care of it and I said it was gonna live in a silk bag where all my other really precious stuff lives, and I looked at him and damn if his eyes didn't get wet too.
So then all of us were sort of on the edge of our feelings and Meghan and JoAnne were teary too, and instead of losing my rep, my rep got somehow enhanced. Now everybody thinks I'm this uber cool and caring guy who can show feelings for some old dude he barely knew. I didn't want to be there, and sometimes I feel like a hypocrite.
But I miss Mr. Dickens.
The watch wasn't the most precious thing he could have given to me. I already had the most precious gift.
It was his friendship.
And he never did tell me where the still used to be.
Roger, don't let some wise-assed kid like me cry over you dude. Fight. Fight and don't give up. Fight until you don't think you can fight anymore. Like the Marylanders at Long island, and Jackson at Mannassas, and young Jack Cornwell at Jutland, stand your station. Stand to and fight dude. People love you.
Fight Roger. I need you to fight, okay?
With love,
Jonathan
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Roger, please listen to Jonny. I have always read your post and gotten a lot from them. I told Jonnny once that I thought you were way cool and had a level head. Us younger guys need guys like you to help us understand things.
Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you......
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ChowanFarmBoy
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Toe is in the water |
Registered: January 1970
Messages: 93
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And you ask me what makes you so special, and why I love you so much? Oh, dude....
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