10/26/2013 Yesterday was Friday. My sister and I went to see the Beekman Boys. Before I tell you about that experience, let me tell you about the experience I had when my husband Jim was dying. Jim was my third husband and the man whose soul called to me from the moment I saw him. His soul spoke to me throughout the time I knew him on this earth and through his death in 1991. At the time we had divorced so that I could claim Head of Household on my income tax. We had married on January 1, 1982. I met him on a summer day in 1969. His soul grabbed me in that moment and never to this day has it let me go. After we married he suffered the loss of the custody of his daughter. It devastated him. He decided at that time that he no longer would deny his recognition of being gay and his desire to be with other gay men. Although this decision caused us to part as a married couple it did not cause us to part soul connections. He died in 1991, March, of HIV AIDS. The story of his suffering and eventual passing ends like this. I had moved to Atlanta, GA from Knoxville, TN. During my employment and the raising of my daughter from a previous marriage, we kept a close relationship. He had always had an infinity with the American Natives’ history. I felt many connections myself. We often spoke of our previous life together and wondered just what that story was. Yesterday was Friday. I went to see the Beekman Boys, a gay couple who have some acclaim and are openly gay. I cannot deny it caused me to think of my last husband and his life as a gay man. When he was dying in Knoxville and I was working in Atlanta, my mind was filled with a chant that haunted me. I kept seeing an Indian brave lying on a mat next to a smoky fire that swirled it’s way up and out of the central opening in the top of the teepee. The teepee was lit dimly by the fire that swirled the smoke. The chant seemed so familiar. Over and over I heard it in my mind. One morning I picked up the phone at work and called his partner. His partner told me that Jim was having trouble breathing. I could hear him in the background. I knew then that I must go to him. I begged off work, went home, packed a bag and headed for Knoxville. I arrived around 11 p.m. at a friend’s house. We talked for a while planning to see Jim in the morning but I could not get the image of the smokey room out of my mind. My friend (and Jims) agreed to go with me to the hospital where Jim was dying. The chant, the image, remained strong. When I walked into his room he was surrounded by siblings and other family members. Most of them were smoking cigarettes and the air was filled with smoke. He lay on an ice blanket. The only light in the room was a dim stream coming from the room’s bathroom with the door ajar a bit. An orderly in charge of his comfort told me that the only thing keeping him alive was the ice blanket. Without it his breathing became labored as his temperature rose. I watched as his sister repeatedly returned to the controls to turn on the ice blanket and, therefore, lower his temperature and kept him breathing a while longer. They all talked in the darkness as I held my “bordache” in my arms and sobbed. His mind was gone, I was told, and only his brain stem remained keeping him alive. I realized that the chant was coming from his soul to mine to get me to come to his aide. When finally I convinced his family to leave the hospital; when finally there was no one but his partner and myself; then, I could do what he had sent for me to do. I had his Power of Attorney. He hated being cold; he hated them looking at his dying body. When his breathing became labored again I chose not to turn on the ice blanket. In about 20 minutes he was gone. The chant stopped for two days. Then it began again at his funeral. What was this song in my head? Not until I returned home and found myself sobbing in the shower did I realize where I had heard that song before. It was the last song on an album by Johnny Cash called Bitter Tears. In the shower I was begging him to tell me why he had left and when I would see him again. The album flashed in my mind. I got out of the shower and headed for my room. I dug through a stack of albums, found the Bitter Tears album and listened. There – the last song on the album was the chant I had heard in my mind. And the last line of the song told me where he would be…”Now, my blanket I roll and go to the valley of the great Navajo.” We would meet again in spirit. Yesterday was Friday. I went to see Josh and Brent. As my sister and I sat at a picnic table after seeing them music came over loud speakers nearby. Never before had I heard that music on a public radio or broadcast. But there it was…the chant, the song from Bitter Tears that so many years ago spoke to me. It was him. It was Jim saying hello. Saying we are still in spirit together and we will see each other someday in the valley of the great Navajo. Yesterday was Friday. I met the Beekman Boys and was very impressed with their gracious nature. Yesterday I knew Jim was there too.
Posted on: Sun, 27 Oct 2013 02:16:17 +0000
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