Staring out the window...

I blogged a while back about that guy making his own funeral arrangements because he was dying, remember? Well, he isn’t dead yet. Actually, I’ve wanted to post about him not being dead yet but have thought that I didn’t want to jinx him by doing so (I’m a bit terrified that I am going to come into work tomorrow and he will have died). Anyway, in true me fashion, I’m going to blog about *my* feelings and *my* thoughts about this man, instead of blogging about what his immanent death might be doing to *his* thoughts and feelings, as I don’t know him, nor do I think it would be appropriate to ask him if I did.

The hospital he told me he’d be at is just up the street. I can see it through the window here at my desk. It’s the hospital where I was born, and it is the hospital in which many people die, including, at some future date, my pre-arrangement leukemia man. In the post I mentioned wanting to visit him in the hospital, he was supposed to check himself in sometime in early February, and I still want to. I don’t think I want to talk to him, just maybe go poke my head in while he’s asleep, or ask a nurse if there’s anything I can get him that he might need (maybe some delicious French fries, I know that I’d want some if I were stuck, dying in a hospital), just so I can see him alive again. I’m not sure why, but I just don’t want the next time I see him to be when he’s dead. I want to know when his daughter turns 18. What if he doesn’t make it (he didn’t think he would)? What if he does? How will I know? I have instructions to not call her when he dies, a friend of his will tell her, so I don’t have a way of knowing. Why does it bother me so much? Argh. I’m so confused…