I am also sorry to report the death of my own neighbor Wally Acton. I came home two nights ago to the people from hospice standing amongst packed boxes in his living room. The hospital bed I plopped him into on the morning before my birthday gone.
It is my own warped and naive belief that when people pass they say goodbye to those they knew. The other night while I was sleeping I felt a tugging at my hands which were folded across my chest. I screamed into my dream for tugging to stop, which it did but not right away. The part of my brain that believes in the supernatural has decided it was Wally bidding farewell.
That part of my brain is also the part that causes me to avoid stepping on cracks in the sidewalks in preservation of the health of my mother's back.
28 December 2006 - 4:01 PM
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