... the journal

The Guest
Refrigerator Door

The next fridge door belongs to my friend Martha, in Cincinnati.

ML-CARE.jpg (34022 bytes)

* Discussion *

What's your idea of the best place to live?

Talk about it here.


Just finished reading this--
it's a good read...
trying to decide what to read next.

The Hammer of Eden
Ken Follett


Fiddler on the Roof
(my night to review another play)

Pictures from the Cincinnati are now up at Steve's Club Photo page.

Pictures from our Family reunion are on my own Club Photo page.

That's it for today!


14 April 2001

Today was the day I decided I was going to Clean Up. I am expecting guests for lunch on Wednesday and there is much to do to get ready. I turned off the computer and put my efforts to the task at hand. I was making fantastic progress for quite some time.

But I found out that you need to be careful what you put on in the background to keep you company when you're engaged in a project like this.

I decided that as long as I was going to be around, I would copy some videotapes. I got the first one done and then remembered that a good friend of Paul's had asked me a very long time ago for a copy of his last monologue show, "Sedona, Arizona." Since I had everything set up to duplicate tapes, I decided to duplicate "Sedona."

I've seen this show now many, many times and the sight of Paul alive again on my television screen has finally stopped being so gut-wrenching. But the show itself has its moments. I wasn't really paying too much attention it until he got into the part of the show where he talks about Dave's death. It's a powerful segment and gets me every time. It was a long time before I could get back to cleaning.

I decided to transcribe a brief portion of the tape to include here...

On May 18, 1996 something happened to me that has completely altered my perception of the world I live in, the life I have lived and the future that I can no longer comprehend. In a tragic car accident in San Francisco my brother David died.

Now, there's a funny thing that happens to you when your brother--your baby brother, one of your best friends in the entire world, and one of your favorite people on the entire planet--a funny thing happens to you when they die. To put it simply--it makes you sad. So sad that it overwhelms you. It consumes you, and you find it very difficult to function in the world....

...My brother Dave didn't just die when he went through the window of my sister's car. No. His skull was smashed in, his back was broken, his neck was broken, but he was not dead. And because he was not dead they were able to keep him alive on life support for over 24 hours. Why? So they could salvage his organs. Took out his beautiful little heart and put it into another person's body.

And because he was kept on life support, I had the pleasure of visiting him in the hospital.

I was in Disneyland when I got the news. You know Disneyland? The happiest place on earth? My band had gone down there to play a gig at the Roxy in Hollywood. Dave was supposed to go with us, and I still don't know why he didn't.

We got the news and we took the first flight up to San Francisco. ... We walked into the hospital room and there he was. And I gotta tell you something: he never looked worse in his life. Because his skull was smashed in, it was wrapped in a bandage. Because his back was broken, he was strapped to a board and tilted, uncomfortably, just a little bit sideways. His left eye had been crushed so it was swollen completely and not only was his left eye swollen, but his entire body was swollen. His fingers, his arms, his chest, his legs. But that didn't keep me from walking up to his beautiful little bloodied ear and whispering a little white lie.

I walked up to his ear and I said [whispering] "Dave. Listen. I don't care what anybody else says. I think you look beautiful. I don't think you've ever looked more beautiful in your life. I think you look picture perfect."

That really happened. And it drives me crazy that this was the last memory of my brother Dave. I wish to God that the last memory of my brother had been two weeks earlier, the last time I saw him conscious.

[Paul goes on here to talk about getting together with Dave after a show the band had played, going back to Dave's place, drinking a lot, and Paul getting morose about his love experiences]

...Can love exist? I don't know. So I laid down on the couch and I closed my eyes, and gently, I wept. And Dave was all the way across the room. It was a very long room. And the next thing I knew, he was carressing my brow, much like my mother used to do when I was sick with the flu. It was as if he was telling me, "Don't worry, my friend. It's OK. Everything's going to be OK."

And I wish that that was the last memory of my brother Dave, but it wasn't. It was when he was swollen and bloodied in a hospital room. And although I do admit it was a little white lie, there is a part of me that still does believe--he looked picture perfect.

No comment.

One Year Ago:
Touched by an Angel

Some pictures from this journal
can be found at
Club Photo

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Created 8/14/01 by Bev Sykes