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January 31st, 1981
Just had a phone call from my Uncle Lewie and Aunt Pat. Grandma lies dying in a nursing home. I’m not sure of the details, but it seems she was put in a nursing home this week. Her body temperature has dropped severely and her blood pressure is very low. Her breathing has become irregular. She dies. She passes away. If there is a Jesus and a heaven somewhere, she is going to be there. Heaven, unknowable bliss. Total euphoria, eternal happiness. Happily ever after.
To lose someone that you love.
There is great sorrow at death; being human is a splendid condition. The conduction of a life is a marvelous intrigue. And when a life stops, when a personality ends, there is a great sorrow.
Your departure covers me like sad shadows.
I loved your life, and you, and your kitchen and your house dressed and your telephone “setee” and your big huge breasts and your soft soft hands. Your little soft worn hands. And now you lie cold in a room and I cannot hold you and warm you in my arms.
To think that the personality survives the death of the body and that an afterlife exists is a ridiculously primitive attempt by humanity to explain the final absurdity: we die; we die. Just that. Be very careful, my dear, this is the only shot you get.