honky cracker: I Will Be There When You Die Joe was born in New York City Son of Paul and Catherine always down and always out ... but his morrows always seemed just fine There will be bigotry and there will be open minds There will be days of peace you'll never have the time
As long as you keep a straight face I will be there when you die
To me, this is the greatest promise one human being can make to another.
Not "I love you". Not "I will marry you". Not "I will go to Prom with you". But "I will be there when you die".
(the last thing I need right now is some drunken meathead screaming Nirvana's "Come As You Are" in my ear. Fuck you and your trucker hat. You think this was meant for you?)
I was born in east Kentucky Home of where the grass is dyed always down and always out ... but my morrows always seemed just fine There will be bigotry and there will be open minds There will be days of peace you'll never have the time
As long as you keep a straight face I will be there when you die
I'm not gonna pretend like I know what the song is about. I didn't write it. (My Morning Jacket, "I Will Be There When You Die".) But for me.... Two friends. Completely different everything. Came together. Will be there when the other one dies.
A simple promise.
For ever and I ever, I subscribed to that Donnie Darko outlook... "Every living creature dies alone". And I guess that's true. When you die, you're goin'. And you're not takin' anyone with you. You go in an instant -- at one very distinct and geometrically correct point in time. You. Go. Then. It's correct.
Or is it?
My grandfather suffered from fibrosis of the lung. Never smoked a day in his life. Worked in an asbestos factory, though. For years and years.
He was fine -- absolutely fine -- and when it came it came quick and hard. One day he's 73 and playing basketball with my brother and I. The next he can't get outta bed cuz he can't breathe.
He was supposed to get better and come home. Well, not "better". But well enough to leave with an oxygen tank and be with his wife of fifty-something years, having drinks with his best friend Bob and chillin' with his daughter, her husband, and their two kids who lived just down the street.
He died when an orderly bumped into him and knocked him off his wheely-bed-thingy.
He was alone. My grandmother left to go home and get some sleep. Bob went home to be with his wife. My mother, she left to make dinner for her two sons.
I'm not a religious man, but I hope that it was St. Christopher who showed up there to him that night and drove him away in a big ol' Rolls Royce, and not Gabriel or the Angel of Death or some shit... 'Cuz St. Christopher has a sweet, sweet ride.
The clock struck Ten. I knew that because I could hear the bells of our grandfather clock dong ten times.
I was playing video games with Seth. My mom was sitting in her chair like she always does.
I got shot playing Ikari Warriors. I should have just pressed "A-B-B-A A-B-B-A" and, voila, I would have been reborn, ready to fight another day.
But I didn't. And I think Seth was confused as to why. Cuz he wanted me to fight.
As I died on the screen a cold, wind-swept chill ran through me... the kind of chill you get when someone touches a spot on your body where you're holding tension you never knew was there.
My brother -- my brain-damaged, semi-autistic brother -- got up from sitting right next to me, watching adoringly at my video-game prowess, as younger brothers are known to do... went over to the dining room window.
He looked out, but not at anything.
He just raised his underdeveloped right arm and waved... without a trace of self-consciousness or sarcasm or any sort of tactile awareness of the real world around him. He simply said "goodbye".
I stood up and looked at my mom.
I said "I think..."
I didn't get to finish, cuz just then, the phone rang.
I heard "Yeah.... uh-huh."
The rest is silence.
I was born in Plainville, Connecticut Home of were everything's just fine always down and always out ...but my morrows always seemed just fine...
As long as you keep a straight face, mum. As long as you keep a straight face...
Factual reports will tell you that my grandfather died on the cold, hard floor of New Britain General Hospital at 9:49 PM. Solitarily. Convusling on the floor.
My report will tell you that while his Central Nervous System sent unreal pain synapses from his body to his brain, my grandfather -- my real, true grandfather -- picked his damn self up and said "Shit. I have some things I really need to do right now" and left.
As his body lay dying on the floor, my real true grandfather showed up in my living room.
As The Body gave way, The Man came home.
Now I ask you, my friends. Really. Does every living creature die alone?
I don't think so. Infact, I know so. And, my friends, I promise you this. When your time comes and your hour is up, you will never, ever have to be alone. I will find you. Or you will find me. We will hold hands and look each other in the eye one last time. Then I will wave.
