Tell me the difference between the dream and the day,
When both have gone away?
Dreams, we say, only seem.
Days have reality, we deem.
But when a dream that seemed real, is over;
And when a day that we say was real, is over;
Both gone like a long-ago lost lover--
What is the difference?
If a reality lasts only a minute,
And a dream lasts more than an hour,
Which one had the most reality in it?
Which one, in your life and over your time, had the most power?
Dreams rise and move and end.
Realities, like so many clouds, are in the clutches of impermanence.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
If a friend dies, if your very best friend is killed,
And all your memories become burning thirst and futile hunger,
And someone says, "Well, this must be what God willed";
Or someone says, "Time heals all wounds.  Now let's eat."
If such words leave your blood chilled,
And you feel yourself half-dead and incomplete,
Because your very best friend had long been like a part of you--
The best and happiest and most loved half of your life--
Now cut out of you, without anesthetic, by death's blood-dripping knife--
As the saying goes, you know you're not getting any younger--
But how much older will you get, when grief grips your heart, and all that you do;
And you've got cancer, too, inside of you.
-- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
When you have illusions, and then become disillusioned,
Is that like having life, and then dying?
You breathe.  But where is all your breathing, after your last breath?
Where is your life, when you fall into death?
I saw my friend's eyes looking at me.  I probably was his very last sight.
His eyes were dark with fear and pain and sorrow. 
He feared his today was slipping away from him, and there would be no tomorrow.
I was helpless.  Always before I could help him.  Always before I protected him. 
Always before I took good care of him. 
For example: When, for different reasons, he needed doctors, I got them for him.
Our situation, they always quickly assessed: that I was Brian's best friend,
And I was taking care of him.  They always co-operated with me in helping Brian,
Right away.  And all the way, once he told them that was what he wanted.
I never had met one like the hospital doctor who killed Brian. 
He refused even to drain Brain of his dangerous fluid build-up, ascites.
For twelve days, he let it build up, causing Brain pain, and endangering his life.
The first three days, Brian was on NPO; nothing by mouth;
No food, and no intravenous feeding;
Then again, for six days Brian starved--awaiting a long-delayed test--totally unneeded--
For something we already knew all about--either Brian or I could have explained all that--
If he had respected Brian's instructions to talk with me, or even cared to speak with Brian.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
He starved Brian for no good reason, despite his obviously malnourished body,
For his first three days in the hospital, when being stuck with needles nearly every hour.
Then again, for the final six days of Brian's precious life. 
On the fifth day, Brian told visitors:
"I haven't eaten for a week.  I'm hungry.  Can you get me some food?"  Too late.
Brian had arrived to the hospital malnourished, but eating well again, thanks to Marinol.
But despite his good appetite, he was kept hungry, and not allowed a bite,
By order of the doctor, for a total of nine of Brian's twelve imprisoned days.
He ignored Brian's instructions to talk with me about Brian's medical history
And his current treatments.  He told me my relationship with Brian meant zero.
And, despite all my efforts, he made sure it meant zero.  My memory is haunted,
Knowing from this doctor's deeds and words,
What a deadly poison ignorant, arrogant spite is.
I know that the doctor starving Brian was the main cause of his death.
Probably also the uncared-for ascites, which by itself can cause congestive heart failure.
But even if the doctor might want to pretend his starving Brian did not help end his life,
He cannot pretend in God's light,
That he did not torture Brian in his last days of life,
Keeping Brian hungry, though Brian so badly, so painfully wanted to eat--
Finally hungry, but only to suffer--because the Marinol had given him back his appetite.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Brian was so intelligent in so many ways; and he had a great deal of knowledge.
He knew all about movies--directors, producers, actors, histories--and comic books,
And many diverse subjects, such as the works of art and words of R. Crumb,
And cartoons--like Rocky and Bullwinkle, and Popeye--and old TV shows.
He could drive a stick-shift car so well.  He had many other skills.
But he suffered anxiety attacks, depression, and break-downs.
He knew a great deal.  He was a great conversationalist and a wonderful friend and
Companion.
But there were things he could not do.  He couldn't balance a checkbook.
He couldn't remember any of his bills or when to pay them. 
When he had his last break-down, he had not made a car payment in many months. 
His car was on the verge of being repossessed.  I paid off the car out of my savings,
And I took him in.  I took care of all his affairs.  And I nursed him back to health.
As he himself said, he was like a babe in the woods, in so many ways, and needed help,
Which I gladly gave.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
After some months of his staying with me, he had an anxiety attack, and he told me,
"I've always been this way.  I need help.  Promise me you'll stay by my side."
And I promised him.  I said, "I promise, Brian, I'll stay be your side." 
I had to say it over and over again, to calm his anxiety. 
"Brain, I promise you.  I promise you, I'll stay by your side." 
I meant what I said.  I loved and cared about my friend that much.
To commit myself to him, to take care of him, and stay by his side.
And I did.  We became closer in mutual caring friendship.  I was always able to help him.
And it turned out that he, on several sudden occasions, was able to help me.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 
But in this hospital, I felt helpless.  The doctor took him under his cold-blooded control,
And now he is gone.  Some say: "He is in a better place." 
I know for sure only that his eyes that looked at me are now in a grave.
Is he, himself, his precious person, his wonderful spirit, somehow in a better place?
His precious head--and his forehead which, when he was anxious or depressed,
I sometimes smoothed with my fingers, speaking soothing words,
And sometimes gently kissed--
Is in the ground.  Brian will be sorely missed.
Somewhere, somehow, perhaps there is the life of some nebulous soul;
Or perhaps a future resurrection, cob-webbed with future time I cannot see.
Will he still be him?  Will I still be me?
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I only know: I am not in a better place.  I am in a bitter place of grief and crying.
I need my other friends now.  My cancer is active again.  I, too, may quickly be dying.
But then I hear the other saying: "Everybody dies.  Get over it."  And so,
I'm left by myself to face my coming death, and deal with grief--to grieve
For the death of my best friend, who before me had to leave.
I need my friends now, more than ever before, more than I ever will again.
But no one can take Brian's place.  My troubled, tormented reality is in a tail-spin.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 
Is there any life left in the dead?  Is there any hope of life left?
My role now is to be the bereaved.  Labeled that, as if that tells my pain.
Pain that cannot be relieved.  Grief for all that I'm bereft.
Every tear I shed bleeds from my heart and soul, and leaves behind an indelible stain.
Oh, my friend Brian, my whole life's very best friend, I miss you!  I love you!
I lift up my hands, grieving and crying, to the sky's vast cold empty space,
Still hoping and praying there will some day be for me--
And for all my fellow and sister people--God's gloried, storied grace.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Tell me, what is the difference between the dream and the day,
When both have gone away?  And what will I be, when there is no more of me?
I'll be wherever, if anywhere, my friend Brian is;
And I'll be whatever my precious best friend is, if anything--that's what I think;
That is enough for me.  Brian, my very best friend, I miss you.  I love you.
My cancer is active again, it seems.  But whatever happens, I'll be coming to you.
I still like your company.  You were never a burden to me. 
I carried you like my most valued treasure.  Because that is what you were.
You were my friend.  A true friend.  My best friend. 
The best of all my best friends.   My very best friend.  My bestest friend. 
You once told me: "Michael, you're the best friend I ever had."
I was glad to hear, and now sad to recall.  For you, Brian, were truly the best of all.
But everything that begins must sooner or later end.
My cancer tells me deeply that my life only seems.
That all my days and nights, and moments of magic life, are only dreams.
Both days and dreams only seem.  I'm still grateful to God, whatever God may be,
For the life I've lived, the love I've had, and my six-year friendship with precious Brian.
Thanks for the dream.


Written by Michael LP, aka MLP
aka PoetWithCancer, aka PWC, aka Mr. Poet
Written on Saturday, February 5, 2011  7:10 pm PST
Temperature: 63 degrees F.  Humidity: 27%  Forecast: overcast
Copyright 2011 by Michael L.P.  All rights reserved