I went in to visit him at the hospital on what ended up being the final day of his life and, when he and I were finally alone, he leaned over to me and said ‘Stan, there have been angels in my room, on and off, since just before sunrise.’ I ask him if he thought it was the morphine (which, normally, he would have been the first to suggest/lol), and he said ‘No, I’m not fucking with you, buddy…I’m not talking about ‘feeling’ angels or anything….There are actual angels who keep coming into my room.’ I asked him if they were frightening and he replied, ‘No, they’re actually making me calm the fuck down a little bit.’ He passed, later that evening.
You know, I have always had (and still have) doubts about there being anything after this life. And, of course, the pragmatic part of my brain recognizes that it certainly could have been the medications he was taking, or some further metastasis to his brain, right? But, if I’m being honest about what my gut tells me, or, my heart? There were angels in my friend’s room..”
21. “I’m going to see you again, brother.”
“My grandfather’s brother, he died exactly six hours after my grandfather and just minutes before he died he said, ‘I’m going to see you again, brother.’
He didn’t know at the time that my granddad (his brother) had died. The family were going to tell him the next morning because he was having a bad day.”
22. “Don’t be sad.”
“I’m working on my mother’s eulogy for tomorrow’s wake. I’m going to go into detail for anyone that is smoking because I think it’s something you should reconsider.
My mom was diagnosed with terminal lung and pancreatic cancer, mass had developed around her vocal cords and made it hard for her to speak. She smoked all of her life, and it finally caught up with her. It attacked her quick, from time she was diagnosed, to time she passed away, it was less than two weeks. First she lost her voice, then she had difficulty breathing, became weak, she couldn’t walk too far, then she could only walk a little, then nothing at all, she had trouble eating. The night she died I let her smoke her cigarette, (doctor said it didn’t matter anymore) and my sister and I took mom into her bed and I knew as did my sister, it was the last time, we spent a few hours with her, holding her and I got up, lost it a bit, and my mom said ‘Don’t be sad’ loudly with all her might.
I was fortunate to be with my mother at that time, she was due to have hospice that Monday but she did not make it, lung cancer kills quickly. I hope none of you have to deal with that, consider it that next cigarette, it’s just a matter of time. Well, enough preaching.”