in *hey* i attempt to wake from the ai slumber party

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And again, all hell is breaking loose. And again, I am resolved to let it all go. Release the outcome. Stay in the present moment. I have good news and bad news.

Bad news first: my friend is dying more rapidly than expected. I spent most of yesterday with him doing an “infusion.” A room full of infusions. People, hopeful. Sad. Grim. My surrogate dad and I chatted along about the Wakeup Grandpa additions we could pull together. W.C Fields. Winston Churchill. And the Meditations of Marcus Araleous. Woody Allen, jokes only.

In the bright room of windows, nurse Jackie was a delight in her pink scrubs. “Four boys,” she said. “Six to eighteen.” Wow. She poked and prodded my friend’s arm, got his saline started. Prepared his bag of medicine. Chatted with us about life, kids, and being a parent.

Earlier, in the waiting room, a middle-aged woman was offering everyone a treat from her basket. “It’s my birthday,” she said. “And chemo day.”

“Can I sing you happy birthday?” I asked.

“I would love that.”

I did my best Bill Murray, night club singer, and the room brightened. Windy was very happy. She gave me an extra Twix. An older gentleman came over and sat next to me. “Are you a musician?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Me too! What do you play?”

We chatted about bands, his daughter and wife back in the infusion room (only one visitor per patient) and his music. He pulled out his phone and played us a song. A ragged, smoky voice and lovely fingerpicking.

“Is this your song?”

“Oh no! It’s Willie.”

All that, that, life, that was the good news. People want to connect. Share. Love. Hope. A little love shared in the infusion rooms of Texas Oncology, a booming healthcare provider.

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The Cloud Pilots episode on this chapter is in progress.