Was a wee bit pissed earlier today, and it was about something that I would have laughed about a couple of months ago and will probably laugh about a couple months from now. Today just wasn’t the day.

I stopped in health services and had to drop something off for the PA. I walked back to where he sees inmates and see a gurney. Not empty. A body on the gurney covered with a sheet. I just stood there for a second, noted that the shoes were prison issue, that there was definitely a figure under the blanket, definitely not breathing. I also reminded myself that no one dies at the prison, they are always pronounced at the hospital. But still… The last figure I saw on a gurney was my Mom. When I left the hall with the gurney, a couple of the staff in health services were laughing about it, thinking that they’d
"gotten" me and about how they would be getting their supervisor later in the morning. Ha – fucking – ha. That was some hilarious shit. The next time one of them hits a deer, remind me to leave a deer head in the back seat for them. That would be so damned FUNNY.

Sorry, like I said, I’m a bit sensitive about death at this point. The odd thing is that I’m feeling more and more at peace about Mom’s passing. I think it does help that we’ve been grieving and preparing for this since the diagnosis. I can remember that night, when we got back to Yankton, crying with Amy and saying that my mom was going to die. I remember waking up in the middle of the night, sobbing because I knew we’d lose her. All through the summer, a nagging voice in the back of my head kept asking me what I was most afraid of. That was answered when the cancer came roaring back. So, I’ve been preparing for it for several months. I recall the days at work following the diagnosis. I’d basically stare and nod for the inmate, all the while thinking that their problems were nothing compared to the real crap I was going through.

Oh, found the poem Mom had paraphrased (and asked that the pastor use in his sermon. Here it is:

Weep not, weep not,
She is not dead;
She's resting in the bosom of Jesus.
Heart-broken husband — weep no more;
Left-lonesome daughter — weep no more;
Grief-stricken son — weep no more;
She's only just gone home.
Day before yesterday morning,
God was looking down from his great, high heaven,
Looking down on all his children,
And his eye fell on Sister Caroline,
Tossing on her bed of pain.
And God's big heart was touched with pity,
With the everlasting pity.
And God sat back on his throne,
And he commanded that tall, bright angel standing at his right hand:
Call me Death!
And that tall, bright angel cried in a voice
That broke like a clap of thunder:
Call Death! — Call Death!
And the echo sounded down the streets of heaven
Till it reached away back to that shadowy place,
Where Death waits with his pale, white horses.
And Death heard the summons,
And he leaped on his fastest horse,
Pale as a sheet in the moonlight
Up the golden street Death galloped,
And the hoof of his horse struck fire from the gold,
But they didn't make no sound.
Up Death rode to the Great White Throne,
And waited for God's command.
And. God said: Go down, Death go down,
Go down to Savannah, Georgia,
Down in Yamacraw,
And find Sister Caroline.
She's borne the burden and heat of the day,
She's labored long in my vineyard,
And she's tired —
She's weary —
Go Down Death, and bring her to me.
And Death didn't say a word,
But he loosed the reins on his pale, white horse,
And he clamped the spurs to his bloodless sides,
And out and down he rode,
Through heaven's pearly gates,
Past suns and moons and stars;
On Death rode,
And foam from his horse was like a comet in the sky;
On Death rode,
Leaving the lightning's flash behind;
Straight on down he came.
While we were watching round her bed,
She turned her eyes and looked away,
She saw what we couldn't see;
She saw Old Death. She saw Old Death
Coming like a falling star.
But Death didn't frighten Sister Caroline;
He looked to her like a welcome friend.
And she whispered to us: I'm going home.
And she smiled and closed her eyes.
And Death took her up like a baby,
And she lay in his icy arms,
But she didn't feel no chill.
And Death began to ride again --
Up beyond the evening star,
Out beyond the morning star,
Into the glittering light of glory,
On to the Great White Throne.
And there he laid Sister Caroline
On the loving breast of Jesus.
And Jesus he took his own hand and wiped away her tears.
And he smoothed the furrows from her face,
And the angels sang a little song,
And Jesus rocked her in his arms,
And kept a-saying: Take your rest,
Take your rest, Take your rest.
Weep not — weep not,
She is not dead;
She's resting in the bosom of Jesus.

God's Trombone: Seven Negro Sermons In Verse
James Weldon Johnson
Penguin Books: 1955