OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT

                 

               From Thomas Moore’s 0FT IN THE STILLY NIGHT:

             

                                                      Oft in the stilly night,

                                                      Ere Slumber’s chain has bound me,

                                                      Fond memory brings light

                                                      Of other days around me

                                                      The smiles, the tears

                                                      The words of love then spoken,

                                                      The eyes that shone

                                                      Now dimmed and gone.

I recently came across this quote from Moore’s poem. It pricked my heart and awakened sleeping 

tears.  My memories of Paul went back far—50+ years when we were financially challenged graduate students. We sat for hours over one cup of coffee in the Penn State Diner. 

His smiles were captivating; his big brown eyes melted my heart.  Fifty years later after leukemia struck those smiles had become less frequent; those eyes were less bright.  But oft in the stilly night—memories of them flood my mind.

TIME FOR HOSPICE

The day Paul was diagnosed with leukemia his immediate response was –I am going to die. If I have to die it can’t be in a hospital.

“You won’t," I promised.

His treatment consisted of two lengthy hospital stays and extensive out patient care. He spent his time at home working at his desk, reading and writing, adding to his homepage and blog or sitting in the Boston Rocking chair in the living room, reading or watching TV. It was slow paced regimen with much dozing.

The day came when time at the desk gave way to more time in the rocking chair. As he became weaker he rarely left the chair. Day and night he sat there. Trips to the table for meals, to the bathroom became increasingly challenging to both of us.

One morning he declined to leave the rocking chair for breakfast. By lunch he was still in the chair with yet a trip to the bathroom. “Paul,” I said.  “I think it’s time we got Hospice.”

“I don’t need Hospice,” he snapped in that crabby voice he was known for.

“But I do. I can’t do this alone.”

“Then get it if have to. But I don’t need it.”

The next day an Hospice intake person came to process all the entry papers.