Arlo Guthrie is waiting for us!
April 7, 2009
Arlo is waiting!
You’ll be reading this in your hospital bed. I know I was just there with, by your side only an hour ago. You were squeezing my hand, looking at me through your closed eyes. In pain from your recent surgery. Your very first, I heard!
They knocked you out cold. Went through your neck to that clogged vein around your brain and kicked it’s ass! It’s only a matter of time now. It’s only a matter of rest. When I woke up this morning,emotionally drained from a week of heartbreak, I unwillingly walked into work. They all asked how you were doing. I think I just said in my low voice “I don’t know, really.” My work day was spent thinking of you, in your hospital bed, in complete pain.
I broke down when my boss asked why I was so quiet. I told him in a mash-up of hysterical words. I think he understood, though. I wish I could write as gracefully as you. I just wasn’t born with it.
Arlo is waiting for us to come to his show on Sunday!
So, I’m at work, and I swear I knew the phone would ring. I knew I’d hear news that I didn’t want to hear. So, when it rang, mid-lunch-time-rush, and your mother told me about the surgery that was going to have to be done, I lost my cool. The phone was handed to you, and your voice was so scared. I’d heard it this way all week, and I couldn’t stand to hear it anymore. I went outside hunched down and for the first time this week, I set all the strength I had aside, and sobbed as hard as I could. Shoppers walked by, avoiding me, concerned that I would ruin their day with my personal problems.Visions of lobotomies paraded through my head. I thought I was about to lose you.
It’s like I told you a few week’s ago as you were whining to me about your headaches, “I’m supposed to be the tragic one in this relationship, Robin!”
I left work. I just walked out. You wanted me by your side before you went in for your operation.I couldn’t see me not being there for you. I came home, Matt was there. He drove me to the hospital. I ran through the hallways past more tragic men than yours, and found you throwing up in a bucket with your family around you. I offered to drink it. A cheap joke to see you smile through your bad circumstance.
Jesus, Robin you know you’re a more graceful writer than me.
What happened next was the most intense few hours of my life. How was I supposed to act brave for you, when inside I was falling to my knees? I did my best. Didn’t say a word when that nurse assumed I was your brother. I let them take you.
Your family and I sat for hours waiting for you to be ready for us.
When I saw you again, remember, you were barely awake, all grumpy and achy, You told me about the dream you had where you were dancing, and you said your headache was nearly gone! Taken it’s place will be a nice neck scar for us to laugh about, on a train to somewhere, someday.
That’ll be after we see Arlo, of course!