Dear all,
here in the apartment now, signs of Nate in mid-action, full vitality are everywhere. -magazines opened to articles, tapes and CD's, stacks of mail, ETAN notes interspersed with poetry, art, pupets, bike tools, appointments. Nate's illness was a nanosecond of his life.
When he first got diagnosed following endless hours in ER and testing and consulting with various teams of professionals on hand, I could not stop crying.= He however took all the news in evenly, had compassion for me- and was ready to move on to the next challanges of the day. He had lost the ability to walk, but could still use his athleticism to work his legs, get transitioning into a wheel chair etc.
While I was breaking down over the loss of our lifestyle, the way he was always with me biking through the city, and now I'd have to bike alone which I was finding 100 percent unacceptable; Nate had already moved on to the new challanges facing him. He had no chip on his shoulder about moving from a guy that had biked 30 miles a day at work, and would get giddy Sunday nights because he got to go to work the next day, to a guy who's challange for the day was to take a piss- So I couldn't stay back there in my lamenting the past because I realized that Nate had already moved on to the new present reality, and if I was going to stay back in the past I'd be on my own. To keep up with Nate I had to shift focus also to positively assess the challanges of the present and also the joys.
What was amazing, though entirely predictable, about Nate's attitude in all this is that along with the loss of use of his legs, he lost a sense of entitlement - he just applied all of his strength gusto, intelligence kindness/patience with himself and others, and good humor to his present situation. I thought that was just awesome, and it was incredibly strengthening and healing for me- he was completely inspirational. Up until the last couple of weeks, at night he wanted to be alone, with me setting up his walkman, Blake, London Review of Books, New York Review of Books, A Nation or two, and crucially, particular mixed tapes from his vast cryptically labeled and ordered collection. He said that although everyone talked about 'fighting' the cancer, for him it was more an insistance from life that he undertake a long overdue spiritual reassessment/ reorientation- And he was grateful for that opportunity. He was up to some of that at night, with his music, reading his books and his solitude- He refused to take on cancer as a burdon he alone had to carry. He said he realized right when Amy showed up to be with us the first time in the ER and Marcia ran around town trying to get a Subway Tuna sandwhich to him, that this wasn't just happening to him, it was happening to all of us. His task was to heal and to stay open to all the love that everyone was sending him. And he was certain of us all overcoming this cancer- we're about life and happiness, not pain and sickness he'd say. He said he could not believe that these legs of his weren't going to obey him again, and he was certain they would. He said later that when pain would creep up at night he would commune with friends and well-wishers who were sending prayers, healing, and love- He felt carried by it. He stayed open to the experience life was handing him. A couple of days before we left for Mexico he said that he'd at last gotten the whole thing figured out- in the past 24 hours he had come to understand something. Somehow I sometimes feel that he has been healed- he is whole and free of illness-
I was upset last night, in tears, over the thought of my retracing the route he would ride each morning at 4:00 am to work- a 35-45 minute ride to Alexandria where his main office had been moved, that he totally relished. My idea was to do a pilgrimage on my bike along this route, though not at 4:00am, to tell his office there the news of his death in person- they know of his cancer. But I was so broken up at the thought, and the thought that no longer is this his 4:00 am relished route. And then I remembered myself with him the day after surgury, when he was attending to his business at hand, while I was breaking up. And it always seemed that while it was OK for me to cry, and he even appreciated my tears quite a lot, in some ways it took me away from him, because he was onto the next task already.
So to here and now. I am certainly going to take my time of wailing and throwing shoes and punching the couch, etc- But the times when I am not I often feel Nate's presence by my side. The apartment feels totally infused with Nateness. Sometimes that's almost intolerable in the face of the lack of his person here, often it's peaceful and beautiful. My contingency plan in case this unfathomable thing came to occur was to disappear in Baja. However once dealing with the actual death of Nate I found I wanted to be around his things, find a scrap of writing of his, listen to his music. On the airplane over I realized even more powerful than being around the scent on his clothes, his handwriting and music, is being with others who love and miss him and have history with him- we are the living memory of Nate and in our friendship nate is so alive. I so appreciate that we are all going through this together-
I am having an open house at the condo this weekend, the 25th and 26th from 5-8pm- 1325 13th St. NW apt. 602. I am planning a memorial for the 17th or 23rd of July- I hope as many people as possible can make it to the memorial so that we can share in Nate's ongoing glow. And if anyone is going to see the Fall, the Mekons, the Rambling Shadows, or the like,..... I'm dedicated to carry on Nate's (punk) rock & roll spirit.
Nate was completely dedicated to his work with ETAN, the East Timor Action Network- friends in the Network are establishing a fund in Nate's name. I'll get details out along with a firm memorial date ASAP.
in love,
Daphne
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