Friday, May 14, 2010

The Miracle of Greg Lives On

My cell goes off. It’s Greg’s daughter Tosh.
“Annie, you better come.”
“I know. The owls are landing in trees above my head.”
She knows the story my Navajo friend told me about one of the Legends. Owls bring messages one of us here on Earth is about to transition out of the body to the Other World. For weeks before my Mother and Father died two months apart, they were visiting me constantly. They started getting closer, telling me the time was near. And it was.
“On my bike ride yesterday, I stopped to take off my arm warmers. There was an owl right above me in an evergreen tree. It hooted twice. Then it flew away. That’s the closest one yet. I’ll fly out tomorrow.”
I’m on my way to Utah. I know what the owl’s message was. Greg has made his decision. He plans to go out, soon.
I arrive at the SLC airport, rent a car, and drive to Greg’s bedside. We smile at each other.
“I guess you know why I’m here.”
“Yeah, I do.” he says.
His brain tumor has paralyzed his left side, but his right side is still active. Now the tumor is growing again, and it has a mind of it’s own. It’s been athletic all its life and is fighting, punching, and grabbing at everything. I pull on Greg’s arm so he can do some curls. His muscles are craving it. After about ten minutes, his arm calms down and just lays there.
We have our little talk.
“Ok, here’s how it goes down. I did this with my Mother, my Father, and my Dog. I know this works.”
He listens carefully, as if he too knows the words that are tumbling out of me come from somewhere else, The Great Manager of the Sky, anywhere but from me. I run him through the Bardo stages from the Tibetan Book of the Dead, an instruction manual for the transition from life to death, and then into All That Is.
“Greg, how do you want to prepare for the rest of the trip?”
He wants more chemo, the nastiest we can find. He wants to fight his invader to the end, and he knows it will kill him too.
“No, it won’t kill YOU. You’ll still be here. You’ll see.”
He knows what I mean.
Tosh and I take a walk as the emotion pours out of her like a broken dam. As soon as we’re outside, I hear owls.
“Tosh. They’re here too.”
“What?”
“The owls.”
“Are you sure that’s an owl? I’ve never heard any around here.”
“Absolutely. It’s got the same rhythm. Who. Who-who-who. The first one is a sentence. Then followed by three more together. Every time.”
We walk up the street a few blocks and stand outside the house of Greg’s best friend Alan, who is also his accountant. Another owl lands in a tree right across the street, hoots three times, and flies off.
“It won’t be much longer Tosh. Greg’s ready.”
Just then Alan drives up, we all greet each other, then Tosh and I leave. She tells me Alan is barely coping, and then adds the latest development in the life and death cycles of life.
“I’m pregnant Annie. It’s Nathan’s.”
“Are you going to keep it?”
“Yes. Nathan is so happy.”
“How does everyone else feel about this?”
“My sisters aren’t happy, but my Mom is.”
“Did you tell Greg?”
“No. I’m not sure yet if I will.”
“Let’s go back” I tell her. “The three of us need to be with Greg.”
Greg’s new Hospice caregiver arrives. The regular one broke his finger and she’s the replacement. I’m hoping Greg is comfortable with a woman changing his disposable brief and giving him a bed bath.
“Hey Greg. This one’s a woman. Can you handle that?”
“The more the merrier”, he tells me as I crack up.
She’s fully present as she comes in, we smile at each other, and I get that usual best-of-friends warmth coming back at me I’m familiar with here in Utah. Must be something in the water . . .
I ask her if I can help, knowing she’s in charge. I explain Greg can’t move anything on the left, but he’s got a mean right punch. Greg grins.
“Take his right arm and pull him over to the other side of the bed. We’ll roll him on his side.”
Greg grabs on to me, I bear hug him, and pull with all I’ve got. He’s still an armful and strong as hell. He bear hugs me. It’s the first time we’ve hugged in a long time. He’s down to his skin, ready for his bath. We’re now locked into each other as his caregiver conducts her business.
“Hey you, you’re still hot!” I whisper in his ear, kissing his neck. He kisses back, but can’t get to my face, so the sounds of his kisses just fill the air. I laugh, and add some irony.
“How many times do we have to do this in front of other people?”

Greg laughs too. His caregiver cracks a smile, keeping her eyes discreetly on her towel as she washes. The room is just three people, completely comfortable being part of human compassion for each other. The harsh business of being in a struggling body just goes away. Greg knows I finally grabbed my moment with him, and he knows it will be the last time he hugs and loves anyone like this again. Not a bad way to complete one’s life.
I feel my moment on Friday and tell Greg I’m flying out.
“Talk to me anytime. I’ll hear you, and I will see you.” I think of the line in Avatar and visualize Greg leaping out of his wheelchair and running his favorite trail up Big Cottonwood Canyon with his dog Joey, who died last year, and is waiting for him on Pandora.
I kiss him all over, hold his face, hang on to my emotions, smile, and walk out the door. We’ve said goodbye. It’s April 30th.
I get another call from Tosh. It’s Thursday, May 13th.
“Annie, he’s gone. We were all in the room with him. My brother flew in too. When my Dad saw him, he took three last breaths, and then he was gone. He died Tuesday.”
“I know.”
I tell her I went to the same place I’ve been going to on Tuesdays where the owls are always there. This time the owl was in the tree next to my car.
“What time was that Annie?”
“About 2:15, maybe 2:25 pm. It was closer than the rest I’ve heard.”
“Greg died at about 3:10 pm.”
I tell her in Mountain Standard Time, that means Greg’s last breath was about five or ten minutes before I heard the owl.
“This time Tosh, it was strange. Instead of feeling sadness, I was almost peaceful. The owl was just . . . there.”
She tells me Greg got into Harvard Medical School. They will harvest his brain and study it so they can save other lives. No one has seen someone live through all this for 3 years. He’s still a miracle they don’t understand. I tell her I was hoping for something like that.
I ask Tosh for details on a family gathering. 
“Annie, his Mom died Wednesday, a day later. She just fell down and died.”
I don’t know what to say.
"We're having our memorial for him and his Mom May 23rd. Will you come?
"Yeah, of course I'll come."
I’m thinking about my decision to move into my place in Park City. It’s the only home I’ve got left. It’s agony thinking about leaving the Bay Area. I thought it would also give me some time with Greg before he made his choice, but inside me, I knew that wouldn’t happen.
“Tosh, how’s your baby?”
“I went to my doctor. He told me we’re all spiritual warriors. He thinks my Dad and his Mom are preparing my baby for me.”
“Are you kidding? A doctor said that?”
“Yeah Annie. He did.”
The rest of Greg will be cremated. His family, some friends, and I will spread his ashes all over Greg’s favorite place, San Francisco, and both our hearts will be left there. I will have moved to where Greg was and he will have moved to where I was. We’ll trade places. 
As I finish writing, KDFC in San Francisco is playing Antonin Dvorak’s “Going Home” from the Symphony of The New World. My tears are messing up my MacBook, so I stop writing. It’s 11:35 am. Pacific Standard Time.
Greg pulled it off. He killed the tumor. The enemy is dead.
And Greg lives on and on. . .