there's a peace pipe on the left

It's a really nice tattoo, one he got sometime in the last two decades.

Notice the faint smoke curling up from the bowl -

very nice.

I had made sure to make a mental note of the tatt, in case something ever happened and I needed to identify his body.

At least that doesn't seem to be anything that will be required of me now.

When I think of it, there's a song fragment that comes to mind, though it's one of those mis-heard lyrics things:

"There's a bathroom on the right" instead of the real "There's a bad moon on the rise".

I don't think Creedence Clearwater Revival would mind my appropriation of their tune and I know Ronnie would get a kick out of it.

Of course, I had not been able to ask him about that.

He was asleep the three hours I was there and his sweet nurse-of-the-day, Alycia, said he had been since she came on early this morning. 

I had brought in a water bottle with a pull-up release, as I had noticed he had a problem using straws.

I managed to get a swallow of sweet tea in him, thinking that would rouse him, but it did not.

That's okay; Sarah Benhase came by and told me that "just a taste" to someone at this stage is as good as having the whole glassful.

At least I was finally able to meet face-to-face with someone other than the nurses.

Sarah is in charge of his case now, not a doctor, so I guess that's good.

I also met Monica Anderson, the case worker I'd spoken to twice on the phone.

She sent in Lisa Ricks, the social worker with all the paperwork to file for Medicaid benefits.

I must have signed my name at least ten times on his behalf.

Then the flurry of live activity ceased, followed by a flurry of texts from MaryLynn Workman, John Ober, and my sister-in-law Laura.

Bless her, she's trying to get him into Azalealand, where she works, but that won't happen until the Medicaid comes through, so we're all trying to make that happen.

I was also fielding texts from Christina, trying to arrange a way for her to visit her Daddy.

 

I finally told her to bring the girls to my house, that I'd mind them so she could.

That part worked out fine, especially with me letting them toss Panamanian seashells on the back porch.

But Christina ended up calling her Aunt Robin - who works at the hospital - because of petty actions by the front desk clerk and by Amanda, the nurse leader on the 3rd floor.

It ended up with the chaplain being called in to escort Christina upstairs so she could say goodbye to Ronnie.

Utterly exhausting.

Utterly ridiculous abuse of perceived power.

I hope Amanda's soon-to-be-born child never has to go through such petty abuse to visit her someday on her deathbed.
 

Christina had returned to me at 7 PM in tears, partly from seeing her dad in such sad shape, partly from her ordeal to do so.

We left the shells scattered about, gathered up the girls, and fled to one of our havens: Cancun.

Mexican comfort food was definitely needed by all of us.

I had wanted such last night, but that was not possible on Cinco de Mayo, so getting my "fix" helped me greatly...

and helped her, too.

She ate every bite of her meal!

So did the two little blondes, and all are safely back home now.

I've gathered the papers needed by Lisa Ricks, scanned them, and emailed them on their way, so I am done for the night.

I'll watch those Harper boys do their silliness and crash out.

It's been a very, very, long day.