Magnetic Steel Velcro

This story is part of a series. Readers are welcome to start at the beginning or to jump in here:

Sparked by Brooke’s offer for me to take care of Sweetie Boy after her death, let's start with a word on cats. A few words. A few paragraphs on cats. Let’s start with a dozen short paragraphs on cats, and anyone who wants can skim/skip it.

I have been allergic to cats for as long as I can remember. One time, when I was about to lose my health insurance, I got an appointment with an allergy specialist to get some concrete data. They took a tiny bed of fifty needles, each one with a bit of an allergen on its tip, then they poked my back with it. After some minutes, my skin showed a radiating pink or red reaction to anything I was allergic to. They'd measure the radius of the reaction to get a sense for the level of allergy.

I told them beforehand I was allergic to cats, so they diluted the cat allergen, and even still, the reaction on my back was off the charts: their radius measurer only went up to 4, and my radiating allergy went way past the 4 mark. The allergy doctor recommended that I never live in a house with a cat.

The trouble was, I love cats, always have, and had developed a handful of somewhat effective strategies after growing up in a house with cats, like keeping my bedroom door closed and washing my hands immediately after petting any cat. I went away from the appointment feeling sad, thinking about no cats for the rest of my life.

Years later, I had a neighbor named John Perry Barlow, one of the most interesting people I'd ever met, and he adored cats to the level of worship. He loved telling and re-telling the story of his tabby whom he regarded as a Bodhisattva, who "sacrificed himself to the coyotes" (pronounced "kye-oats)" so that Barlow could finally move out of Marin County.

I regarded his reverent meandering into the topic of cats a diversion from his otherwise brilliant trains of thought about the internet or music or drugs or the government, topics for which his voice was well-established in the public sphere, except in little moments like when he told me that Egypt had so many mummified cats that Napoleon’s invading army used them like firewood to keep warm.

We had two indoor/outdoor cats who wandered between our houses (I’d already relaxed on the doctor’s recommendation), plus a third cat that John Perry introduced into the scene, Schrödinger. One night we were standing on the porch outside his house, and one of the cats walked by. I sneezed.

“You’d sneeze just thinking of a cat,” John said. And in that moment it was crystal clear, he was right. It reminded me of head trips I went on as a child, with allergies, searching for the link between my thoughts and my symptoms, trying and failing to think my way out of allergies. I’d set that practice aside at some point, choosing to focus on the physical realm, even if microscopic, rather than focusing on thoughts.

“Don’t think of it as a cat,” he said. “Think of it as a broken down spaceship waiting for spare parts.”

I'll never understand exactly what he meant, and I don't think "understanding" was the point. The man lived poetry, and this was a seed he'd planted in my mind. I started to notice my cat-and-allergy-related thoughts in ways I hadn’t attempted since childhood, but much more gently and with much more knowledge about how things work.

I started to notice the early signs of an allergy attack, which helped me steer the ship toward fairer waters and prevent a sneezing episode. I started letting Mr B take naps on my chest, the first time I'd done that with any cat, and it transformed my life in tiny wonderful ways.

Taking a cue from John Perry, who regarded cats as superior to humans, I began to think of myself as Mr B's student, or his subject, or his mentee. Each of these shapes fit the shape of our relationship hand-in-glove. These majestic beasts are so soft and so fierce, experts at receiving affection. I'm forever grateful to John Perry for nudging me into the feline world.

Still, I'd never had a cat who was "my" cat, and I hesitated to lock into cohabitation with Sweetie Boy. Brooke told me she had two other options for him, and that my house was her first pick. I talked to my housemate about it, and he was willing to play a proactive role in tending to this cat's needs. So we formulated a plan that seemed like it would work. Later on, I'll share an update to that part of the story.

October 23, 2021

The second time I saw Brooke in the hospice inpatient unit, she was sitting up in the bed, holding a suction wand in case of vomit, next to her oldest daughter, Kevin. This audio begins with me knocking on the door and asking, “Are you Kevin?”

Kevin: “Yes.“

Brooke: “Oh Will, come on over here. This really did turn into a thing, didn’t it?“

Will: “Yeah. Yeah it did.” [crying mixed with laughter]

Kevin: “Is she your Zen momma?“

Brooke: “No, That's not–“

Will: “You can be by Zen momma too though.“

Brooke: “Okay.“

Kevin: ”Mom, do you want the windows open so you can see them?“

Brooke: “No because it backlights people and I can't see them. I'm going blind, they gave me heparin one night, one day and I've got macular degeneration so my visual acuity is just shot. But it's okay. I need it much longer. I can't read texts. Big deal.“

Will: “Can I turn this off?“

Brooke: “Oh okay.“

[I switch off the suction device] “Oh there you go.”

Kevin has taken a call and asks: “This is not yours is it? Okay that must be Adam's backpack. He's asking about it.”

Brooke: “Tell him to bring me some coffee.” 

Kevin: “Okay. Kind of a large cup? Or you know, they come in sizes?” 

Brooke: “Medium. A happy Medium. Something I can tube in. We should tube through life. Not even any steering wheel.” 

Will: “What does that mean, ‘tube through life’?” 

Brooke: “Okay, if you've got a rowboat, then you're steering it. But if you're just in a tube, you let the water carry you, and it will not catch up on anything. It will push you through small places and pull you into peaceful places. You know, and you're not steering. It's like people, say “you've done so much good. You've taught–” No, I've just walked around doing what I do! I've done nothing, and every time I tried to do good, God it turned to shit. 
You just don't have to try. The better you are at not trying, the better things will go. 
Tristan's going to be fine. People say, ‘Oh you've done such a good job!’
The whole package came. I just went a little bit this way and a little bit that way, because he can't be pushed. He is a bull. 
The best I've ever done at anything was to just do nothing, and not try, and do what felt best to me in the moment, and keep paying attention, and when it quit feeling best, let the water take me somewhere else. 
I love how things are happening. I really do. I'm so happy. I hope it brings some good to Meat World.” 

Kevin laughs, “Meat World!”

Brooke: “Well, it's a very clear distinction in my mind. And leaving it, leaving the meat people that I love, is like trying to pull magnetic steel velcro apart. Mm. They ain't coming back with no ice.” 

Will: “You want me to go get you a refill?”

Brooke: “Yeah, just ice. Just ice.” 

Will: “Before I go, can you remind me how y'all are connected to each other?” 

Brooke: “Who, me and her?” 

Kevin: “I'm her daughter.” 

Will: “And so your father is the Texas husband, the husband number one and two?” 

Kevin: “One and two, yes. One and two.” 

Will: “I'll be right back.” 

Brooke: "Hey, let me make sure that I give you permission to use stuff in any way."

Will: "Yeah. Thank you. Thank you." [I leave the room]

Kevin: "So what is he doing?"

Brooke: "Well, we were doing this thing. He was interviewing me, as an elderly person, about my life. Boy, did he catch a ringtail tooter. Or, as my sister B would say, a Cocktail Spaniard."

Kevin: "This is before you started being sick?"

Brooke: "Yeah. And so we were meeting once a week. And I was telling stories, and we were crying together. And then I got sick. And he followed me home."

[I made it back into the room with the ice chips, and started to look at the images of Brooke's paintings around the room. One of them caught my eye.

Brooke: "That painting yanked me up and made me write that poem."

Will: "Are you interested in reading it?"

Brooke: "Yeah, I'll read it. It makes people think I'm crazy, but I'll read it. Let me get my... make sure I'm... This is called 'Bardo'. Let me burp first. I think I can do it.

Death will peel me like a ripe banana
Pop me like a bright balloon.
I lose my limbs and senses,
My loved ones then and now—all.
I can’t find my place,
My history—my life.
It’s all gone in whatever process wiped me out.
Everything I fought for
Everything I won.
I lose my place
In time and space,
My memory,
My senses.
All I had not lost before
I lose it now.
My sense of now or then as well.
Nothing. Nothing there at all.
No there there.
No One. No response when I call.
I am alone. Alone.
It’s always been this way?
I do not know.
And yet there it is.
I am. I am.
I am Nothing, but I am.
I cannot call out. I have no voice, no words;
I am nothing,
And there is nothing.
And yet, I am.
I am I am I am I am I am
IamIamIamIamIamIamIam
Echoing on no sound,on no sound… on no sound.
OoooommmOoooommmOoooommmOooooommmmmmmm
An endless soundless sound outside time and space.
Nothing at all.

”I read it to Matthew and he cried. And he said, ‘can I buy this painting?’ And I said ‘yeah.’ And he said, ‘how much?’ And I said, ‘twelve hundred dollars.’ And he wrote me out a check for eighteen. Matthew is the one that says I'm his Zen Mommy."

Kevin: "You wrote that?"

Brooke: "Somebody did. I mean, I was in the middle of painting and I'd get yanked up and write a few lines and then I'd go back to painting and yanked up and write a few lines. [exhale] Like that painting over there, I'd been messing with it for six months and I did not know where it was going or what it was. And then my friend died, and in three days the painting came together and was done. I'd already started the butchery down in the bottom right-hand corner. She was an organ donor.
I've got a painting of when Bob Waugh killed himself. Pat called me and said, Brooke, sit down. I've got to tell you something awful. I said, Bob killed himself. And she said, yeah. I had just cried for four months. And I finally said, I've got to paint this out. I can't do this anymore. So I started painting and it was really kind of ugly painting. And I was painting and painting. I did not like what was coming out. And I turned it upside down and there was Bob's face. And as I kept painting, there was a gun.
Janet and Pat and I were included in his will at the same level as his family members. And that's how I managed to pay off my debts. And it has come in in dribs and drabs all along just at the right time.
One time when I had my business, I wasn't going to be able to beat payroll because people weren't paying me on time. He lent me $25,000 for a couple of weeks. You know, he was somebody who made my life safe and who helped me. And we fought with each other. And when we weren't dating anybody else, we'd go on vacations together and have to explain that, no, we're not sleeping together. And I knew not to say a word to him before he got his coffee. And he was the most sexist little motherfucker. [chuckle] I came to Greensboro and I was trying to start a practice. People kept looking at me and smiling and honking. [laugh] Bob had put this bumper sticker on that said, if I don't have sex sometime soon, I'm going to hurt somebody. [laughter] He could be a clod, but you know, we were straight with each other. I have real, real heart friends and some of them just irritate the hell out of me, but we're real." [inhale, exhale]

Kevin: "You didn't get much sleep last night."

Brooke: "I know, but I'm running on cosmos. This isn't all Meat World energy."

Nurse: “I’m back!”

Brooke: "Hi“

Will: “Morning"

Nurse: "Good morning! How are you?"

Brooke: "Fine. I'm getting a bit of a gassy bellyache down here."

Nurse: "Because it's been time for your medicines."

Brooke: "Huh?"

Nurse: "It's been time for some medicines."

Nurse: "Ah, okay. So who all is in here now?"

Brooke: "This is Will, my dear friend."

Nurse: "Your dear friend, okay.“

Brooke: “And this—“

Kevin: “I’m her daughter”

Brooke: “Her dear daughter."

Nurse: "Your dear daughter.”

Brooke: “Yes, I have not seen her since 1998, and she is just balm for the soul. I love her."

Nurse: "Oh my.“

Kevin: “What did she say?"

Nurse: "That she hasn't seen you since 1998."

Kevin: "That's true.”

Nurse: “Long time!"

Brooke: "Well, she lives on an alien planet [she laughs]. She's from Texas.”

Kevin: “She doesn't like Texas."

Brooke: "No, the stork dropped me in the wrong place. That was a total mistake." [Brooke and I laugh]

Nurse: "Now, Ms. Brooke, I'm sorry, but I'm a Texan too, so."

Brooke: "Where are you from?"

Nurse: "Corpus Christi."

Kevin: "I'm from San Angelo, but I live in Sonora."

Brooke: "I grew up in San Angelo too."

Will: "And I'm from Tyler."

Brooke: "I know! I guess I'll just have to reconcile my problems with Texas."

Nurse: "I am trying to find this bag so we can undo it, but it's so tangled in everything.“

Brooke: “Me and this bag had a tussle last night.

Nurse: "It's just the way--"

Brooke: "The way in the world of tubes and wires. You know, that was a big part of my decision, was I'd never have to untangle another damn wire."

Kevin: "Now what is that?"

Nurse: "This is her carafate.”

Brooke: “Oh, this coats my mouth and my esophagus and my stomach and keeps me from eatin’ a hole in my meat body. [she sips the thick liquid and licks her lips] Numnumnumnum. Carafe-ate: Disgusting but good."

[The nurse begins injecting medications into brooke’s subcutaneous port]

Brooke: "I'm so glad to leave tubes and water behind. I can't text anymore. I can't see. What difference does it make? One thing or another. I can drown. I can have a stroke. I can whatever. I looked at my feet the other night too, while I was making my decision, and I decided that they already looked dead."

Nurse: "Her feet are really cold. Can you wiggle your toes?"

Brooke: "Oh, yeah, I can wiggle. I just can't feel. I think I've got two bleeding ulcers in here but I don't care."

Nurse: "Yeah, but, you know, ultimately you want to be comfortable."

Brooke: "Yeah, I want to be comfortable but I'm not worried about that I can't see anymore or that I am having trouble making words or..."

Nurse: "Well, we'll just take it one day at a time."

Brooke: "Okay, or a minute at a time. I don't care."

Nurse: "That too.”

Brooke: “It's been a pleasure, Nurse Jackie."

Nurse: "We’ll be checking up on you."

[Nurse Jackie makes her exit while Brooke’s twin sons and grandson enter the room]

Brooke: "Boy, she got an ear full of weird."

With Kevin and Brooke and Adam and Eric, Brooke told her story of going to New York City at age 19 and doing pharmaceutical meth with various artists, including Bob Kaufman and Allen Ginsburg, then returning to Texas and re-marrying her first husband despite not loving him, having two more children and then meeting Pete, with whom she had her twin boys.

I turned off the recording device as I was leaving the building, so I missed the chance to record my last encounter with Kevin in the parking lot.

She was effusive, telling me that she was closer to her mother than she'd been at any other time in her life. That she'd confronted Brooke directly, telling her she was a bad mother, and that Brooke had admitted to it and apologized, and how that transformed their relationship, opening the door to these precious days of Kevin's short visit to Greensboro.

I'd heard about how end-of-life presents opportunity for transformation. Witnessing it up close was a visceral experience of how expansive it can be. Brooke was living the dream, which would end up making it that much more difficult to let go.