bella_morte_davis_browne fyn gula there are gifts God gives to us, unbelievable experiences no words could even adequately describe or define. yet, we try because our humanity demands it from us, because it is our nature to express the tremendous wonder, because we wqnt others to know how intimately and tenderly we are loved. "fly away," mrs. browne told him, the first time we thought the end had come. davis opened his eyes and it was we who were the birds rushing, wings out alighting on the branches of hope. we put our hands on his chest, our fingers on his pulse, our ears to his lips, listening for any traces of burning flame, looking for the curling smoke of extinguishment. each time a familiar face came into the room, there was a fresh wound appearing, stigmatas of the holy. fearlessly stopping the unbridled flow of tears with the tourniquets of love, these saints, compassionate and sincere, used embraces as carefully applied bandages and kisses as healing balms. we bid them all welcome. we needed their delicate songs, broken melodies written in reflection. our hearts are fragile glass, breaking with our own unwilling acceptance of death. we are mere animals mourning the dissolving presence of our own. comfort is our hunger and we swallow sadness, watching his lungs inhale and exhale the final handful of breaths, individual grains of sand slipping through the hourglass and we cannot do anything to stop it. nothing can ever prepare you for this. it happens to us, and our presence is necessary, for we choose to be there, for our legs will not carry us anywhere else. death is a beautiful event. we sat it before us like a treasure we are afraid to touch and we celebrate the life of one about to inherit the prize. it was fascinating how we simply began to honour davis, bringing forth the memories of his wonder. we were so priviledged to see his eyes the exact moment of his spirit's departure. there was a sudden brightness in them, as they had been dull and lifeless for days. he was looking at someone or something obviously not of this world and in that one brief instance all of his pain and suffering completely vanished. i want to say there was a violent yanking at that point, but not violence in a negative sense, more of a rushing pull of happiness, as if angels were jubilantly exulting and were urging davis to join them. but even that pales miserably to capture the reality of the experience. all i know is there is nothing to fear about dying. davis browne is dancing and singing. 020315 ... unhinged he's really gone fyn? 020315 ... fyn gula he is, but his legacy will go on in all of us. a passion for life, a generous spirit, friendship for all, the ability to laugh at yourself, and most of all, love... dennis is hanging in there. the funeral was a touching honour to his father. jamie has been an angel. 020316 what's it to you? who go blather from