{{{{{JZ}}}}} I'm sure it was a huge comfort for him to see you. I'm sorry that this is all so hard.

Composed this on FB but reposting here because this is my real home:

Super fun story time, Muni edition:

Yesterday, after the conference call with the palliative care team, I left for the hospital. As we haven't had a car in several years, I went by public transit, carrying a couple of clean pillowcases (per the hospital's instructions) to sit on in case I had to sit down at any point, so none of my clothing would be touching any unknown surfaces, and a head-to-toe change of clothes inside a plastic bag inside another plastic bag, so that when I left the hospital I could double-bag the stuff I'd brought in and walk out in completely clean and fresh items that hadn't been exposed to anything.

I wore one of the remaining N95 masks from the box Dad had given us over a year ago after the wildfires. It doesn't have a valve, so none of my air was getting out.

Muni only has a few remaining lines running, but our place is right along one of them and it should have been an easy straight shot from the stop two blocks from our front door right to BART.

BUT, the N is now a single bus, not even a double, and social distancing was nigh impossible and SITTING while socially distancing 100% impossible, so I just slung my arm around a pole to steady myself (fully clothed, and I hadn't worn that coat or sneezed into that elbow in almost a month) and stood.

At Duboce and Church a woman got on pulling a golf cart full of supplies, plopped herself down, and started TALKING. Not even yelling, just TALKING at a truly phenomenal volume. And the driver's shift was done and his replacement was supposed to be there but wasn't, so we all sat or stood there not moving.

"THIS IS A GOLF CART SO IT'S PRETTY WOBBLY. I NEED A ZIP TIE TO SECURE THE HANDLE TO ONE OF THESE POLES SO IT DOESN'T GO ALL OVER. DOES ANYONE HAVE ANY ZIP TIES? ANYONE? ALL I NEED IS A ZIP TIE, BUT MY CART ONLY HAS ONE WHEEL SO IT WOBBLES. NOBODY HAS ANY ZIP TIES? NOBODY AT ALL? OKAY.

"I CAN'T BELIEVE HOW MUCH THIS BUS SMELLS LIKE PEE. WOW, SO MUCH PEE. CAN EVERYONE SMELL THE PEE? IT'S A SHAME. IT'S JUST A DISGRACE, HOW THEY MAKE US WAIT AND THEN WE SIT AND DON'T MOVE AND THEY MAKE US GET ON BUSES THAT SMELL LIKE PEE.

"DOES EVERYONE ELSE SMELL THE PEE? IT CAN'T BE JUST ME, RIGHT? YOU ALL SMELL IT TOO? SO MUCH PEE. I'M REALLY SURPRISED. YOU'D THINK THEY'D BE MORE CAREFUL ABOUT THINGS LIKE PEE, BUT IT REALLY SMELLS LIKE PEE HERE."

About ten minutes into the bus not moving and the endless nonmusical Urinetown performance, I snapped.

"I can't smell the pee because I'm wearing a mask! I don't care about the pee! I'm just trying to get to the hospital to see my father before he's extubated and dies, and WOULD YOU PLEASE SHUT UP ABOUT THE PEE."

Whereupon she reached into one grubby pocket and tried to make me take a wad of cash (paper money wadded up in a wodge, already notoriously one of the germiest things on the planet). "THAT'S AWFUL. YOU ARE BREAKING MY HEART. YOU SHOULDN'T BE HERE. YOU SHOULD TAKE A CAB. TAKE MY MONEY! TAKE IT! GO GET A CAB. WHY ARE YOU HERE WHEN YOU'RE MAKING MY HEART HURT?"

"I know where I'm going and how to get there, and I don't need anyone's cash; I just need you to STOP TALKING ABOUT PEE."

"TAKE MY MONEY. TAKE IT. WHY WON'T YOU TAKE MY MONEY."

And, the whole time, the driver just sitting there because he's done and this thing isn't going another inch until his relief arrives.

So I gathered my stuff and got off the bus and walked a block down to Market, where 3 different lines, all still running, converge and go straight to the BART station I needed to get to. Perfect! Now I wouldn't have to hear about pee or fend off her germy guilt cash or wait endlessly for a relief driver who would never arrive, and with three lines actively running I shouldn't need to wait more than a couple of minutes.

Alas, the closest one was still 12 minutes away at best, and the other two were 45 and 55 minutes.

Okay. 12 minutes. I could do this. 12 would probably be 15 in real time, but that wasn't intolerable, and if (continued...)

( continues...) worst came to worst I could probably walk to BART in 15 minutes anyway.

Standing at the stop, waiting. A tall, chiseled, handsome blond man in a mask walked briskly right past me, and I hastily stepped out of his way. He got to the end of the platform, whirled on me, and started shouting (unlike Urinetown, he wasn't just normal-talking and projecting; he was screaming).

"THAT WAS SO UNBELIEVABLY RUDE! HOW COULD YOU DO THAT? HOW DO YOU THINK THAT MAKES ME FEEL? HAVE YOU EVER SPENT ONE SECOND THINKING ABOUT HOW IT WOULD MAKE YOU FEEL IF SOMEONE JUMPED OUT OF YOUR WAY LIKE THAT! I UNDERSTAND SOCIAL DISTANCING! I'M FOLLOWING THE RULES! THAT WAS SO UNBELIEVABLY RUDE OF YOU!"

And on and on, until I lost it and shouted back, "FUCK. OFF. I'm waiting for the bus so I can get to the hospital and sit with my father while he dies. When someone gets out of my way, I'm HAPPY AND RELIEVED that we're taking care of each other. And if I ever forgot and walked too close, they SHOULD step out of my way because I've been tested and I'm positive."

"YOU SHOULDN'T EVEN BE ON THE BUS!" he screeched. "I'M TELLING THE BUS DRIVER ON YOU!"

So I said, "You are a cold, heartless, garbage human being," and walked most of the rest of the way to BART. As I walked, the N I'd abandoned rumbled by, completely empty, with an OUT OF SERVICE message flashing in front.

At Van Ness, the replacement N appeared and I was able to jump on. Urinetown was on it! But she had apparently completely forgotten I ever existed, and mercifully paid no attention to me at all because she was busy projecting at an old man who apparently had foolishly disclosed that his family was from Louisiana, so she was telling him earnestly about how GENEALOGY IS VERY IMPORTANT AND YOU HAVE TO KNOW WHERE YOUR ROOTS ARE. ON MY DAD'S SIDE OF THE FAMILY WE HAVE BEEN ON THIS CONTINENT SINCE THE 1600S, BUT MY MOTHER ESCAPED NAZI AUSTRIA IN 1946 AND ON HER SIDE I AM 10% ASHKENAZI JEW AND THAT IS A VERY IMPORTANT THING TO KNOW.

So, that's the story of my delightful epic journey to the hospital, and that's how the universe chose to set the stage for my last visit with my father in our lifetimes.

Humans, children. We make me tired.

Wow.

I saw someone said recently that when the clocks changed this year we went from Standard Time to Twilight Zone. Seems more and more true all the time.

Oh, JZ.

Ever since my quarantine was over, every minute I could stay awake was full of hectic things-to-do and chasing my tail in attempts to try and do all of it. I only logged in to my computer for work, I couldn't afford anything else, but on rare seconds of I-have-to-sit-down-for-a-minute, I went to B.org on my phone. I couldn't *not* know how my beloved Buffistas are doing in such trying times. So I haven't skipped. Maybe sometimes skimmed a bit, but made sure I know how each and every one of you who updated was doing.

I don't type wel with just my two thumbs, so I didn't even dare to try to post, fearing it may take me too much time, which was a luxury I couldn't afford (what with working from home, only way way more hours than the regular work hours, and both kids being at home needing my attention, and getting ready for Pessakh, which is the most demanding holiday of the year, I was behind on each and every possible front).

But I just had to take a short break from all my Pessakh preparations and log in to my computer, on which I can acually type, just to send you all my love, and prayers, and thoughts and love.

I mean, it's to all of you, each and every one of you, as well (and I don't start to name names only because I don't want to risk forgetting anybody. But I'm constantly reading, at every possible opportunity I find - the minute I got back into the habit of reading-not-skipping, I couldn't stop). I want to make sure my loved ones are as safe as they could possibly be in this complicated difficult period, and y'all are definitely part of that group. I mean, I want as many people as possible to be as healthy and as safe as possible, but some even more than others. I'm reading and hoping and worrying and wishing. I'm totally lurkers-support-each-and-every-one-of-you-even-without-email.

Oh, I'm making this all meMeME, and that's just the opposite of the reason that made me do it in the first place.

JZ, from all across the ocean, and from years and years of not-enough communication, I just wanted to hug you in what is practically the only possible way now, just in spirit, in words and emotions and in all there is in a hug other that the actual arms.

I was so worried for you when you were heartbroken about being sick and isolated when he was first admitted, not ebing able to be with him physically, carrying so much burden with understanding and deciding and supporting others. You did so much good in such a difficult situation. He would probably have been so very proud of you. He probably is.

And then it turned out to be such a strange blessing, because your being sick and recovering made it possible for them to let you visit him. And it's such a grace, for all involved - definitely for you, to say your goodbyes, and of course for him, to have tangible proof of the love for him that so many people feel and try to convey through you. But also for each and every member of your family. Knowing that even if they couldn't express their love and care, somebody they trusted so, somebody who could do just to their emotions and love and longing and sorrow, was there.

And reading your descriptions, that's just what you've done, in your lovely caring meaningful way.

I remember the last time I've seen my father alive. It was two days before he passed away, and it was obvious that these were his final days. He was so weak and fragile. He was at home by then (he was so weak, and there was nothing they could do for him at the hospital, and he preferred being at home, in his own bed, rather than anywhere else). Pi++Girl was a baby of two months old at the time (oh, how grateful I am that he not only managed to see her, but also to see her smile), and PiBoy was only tow years old.

We couldn't spend long periods of time at my parents' place, because the noise and mess and action brought in by a then-two-years-old energetic toddler were too much for my father, so we tried to arrive for short visits whenever we could (the arrival of the grandchildren were a breath of fresh air for my mother, who (continued...)

( continues...) needed that so very much at the time).

I remember this last visit so well. I remember where I sat, how I held Pi++then-baby, how he was too weak to talk or even communicate in any way, but he was still present. It was how it was writen above - his body was still functioning, while he was gradually leaving the world in his spirit.

And I remember how I sat there and very deliberately said my goodbyes. I didn't know that it was the last time I'd see him, but I knew there wouldn't be much time after that. And I knew that *I* had to let go, that I had to part from him. And every time I feel like there were things that were left untold and unsolved between us (as there so often are with parents and children, and with people in general), I reurn to that moment, in which I sat alone in a room with my dying father and my so-young baby, and crystalized my love and asking-for-forgiveness and letting-go of all things that couldn't be amended. I keep returning to that moment. I go yearly to me father's grave (though this year COVID19 may prevent me from doing that), but the most tangible thing for me is not the stone on top of his grave, but the clear memory of that moment.

What I'm trying to say with all that meMeME couldn't-matter-less-to-anybody-else at such times, is that you've created such a beautiful moment, such an important memory, for all your family, to return to. You've filled your parting with grace and love and care, not just longing and sorrow. For all those who loved him. And it's so very important, currently, and for it as a memory to add to all good memories from him.

And taking Matilda's card with you means that she's part of that, in the deepest sense. She's obviously angry and aching now, how can she not? But she'll find out, when she can, that there's also that. And I hope it brings her some comfort.

And it's like Trudy said so wisely - she'd probably be angry, no matter what, because she's angry at the whole siuation, at losing her grandfather, at the world being so crazy and out of so much of what makes it her world. So you are the target, because she trusts you to be able to contain it, to not-shatter at it. And it's so hard, to carry that on top of everything, and that's part of what love means in such strange complicated times.

I wish I knew what to say. Um, I mean, I've used such large paragraphs right now trying to figure out what to say, I'm sitting with the laptop in my lap instead of doing a thousand other things, just in order to reach out, to say something, but I've spent all those paragraphs meMeME-ing because I don't really know what to say. There's nothing anyone can say that can change anything. So I'd better just shut my keybord, and wish I could use my arms for a hud from afar.

Take care. The waiting is draining, and it may get worse before it starts getting beter, and the sorrow never really ends. And lacking the comfort of being able to go through it with so many others is even more difficult. However, at some point the good memories won't be drowned by that sorrow, but rather accompany it. And what you did today will definitely help in that process, for so many people.

I'm not able to write anything that doesn't seem to me as condescending or awkward or off-the-point, so I'll stop now. All I really wanted to write, when taking away the meMeME parts, is {{JZ}} and {{Hec}} and {{Matilda}} and {{all your family}}.

These days, when someone crosses the street to avoid coming anywhere near me, I'm not insulted (it's mostly neighbors walking their dogs).

{{JZ}} The world has indeed gone mad.

Timelies all!

{{{{JZ}}}} I'm sorry you had to deal with awful people on the bus, in addition to all the crap you're dealing with.

Oh, Nilly, love. Every word of that is a balm. Thank you for sharing your heart with us.