warmlove's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I will miss you so, so much Frenchie #Is truly a dream come true... Out of all the girls in the world/ She belongs to me/But it was just my imagination/Running away with me# Yesterday we all were crowded into a blue hospital cubicle around the bed where we all watched my Uncle Frenchie die. He was unconcious when I got to the lime green to be cheery I suppose, Hospital he had taken a turn for the worst that morning (Mum had phoned me at half 11 and it felt like it took a lifetime to get there from Bow as I ran through Canary Wharf, getting lost between the stupid DLR and Jubilee line...I had a horrible feeling that I'd get there 30 seconds after he had died) - only his sister, my Auntie June was there when I arrived, obviously a total mess, a really sensitive (trained that way obviously) Doctor was sat on the bed stroking him and talking us through what was happening..'He can't feel any pain'...'He can hear what you're saying' but OF COURSE, they HAVE TO say that whether its true or not..God...and he was laid in an awkward looking position across two hospital beds and one male nurse with honey coloured blonde hair and really caring looking blue eyes stroked Frenchie's calfs an a female nurse was sat on the bed, stroking his back... Noone was prepared for this either..yes, he was sick..I remember about a year and a half ago when he stood on the stairs in Granmas house when I was living with them and told me, so calmly that they'd given him six months to live..But he had the strongest self belief and belief in how the world worked, how people worked and that there was something far more important and beautiful after life which was usually pretty shit. He said things like that all the time but he communicated in a way that really made you think. Some of it I took the piss out of because it sounded completely crazy!! But I never dismissed anything he said even if I totally disagreed with it!! His theories and beliefs and when he told you about the corruption and conspiracies that exist all around..you listened and they changed a little part of the way you thought... He was my cool Uncle Frenchie that I told all my friends about!! Sometimes he was my 'crazy, crack-head, Rasta Uncle Frenchie' but that was the truth..many of our Family did think he was crazy..or at least they dismissed a lot of what he said as crazy...he could seem that way, he enjoyed his drugs like anyone enjoys their Starbucks or Chardonnay, perhaps easing his pain in some small way towards the end... You always go back when someones dead and remember the last time you saw them, the LAST THING they said to you, your last memory of them and their last memory of you.I saw him eight days before he died, in his room/recording studio in Granmas attic-topfloor. He had a singer, muscian friend round and they were going through all these reggae-ish cds..playing the stuff that Frenchie sang and songs he got his on-off girlfriend to sing..beautiful stuff..one day he even got me to sing and I do not have a good singing voice AT ALL!! But that was him: persuasive, slightly manipulative when it came to getting what he wanted but that is everyone deep down, is it not? I didn't hug him bye that Monday, he seemed too fragile..I think I grasped his hand firmly and told him to feel better and that I'd see him soon, maybe Friday..As I walked through the door, looking back at him with a little wave and smile it seemed like a goodbye, a bigger one that I made it...I was suprised at how much worse he'd got since I'd seen him last..his voice was weak and he was coughing a lot more..(one of the last things he told me was that I should travel, like I always go on half-heartedly about doing..to Jamaica to really discover it and then Africa..stuff about roots and tings like that but any corniness aside that is EXACTLY what I want to do, its important and the fact that its what Frenchie wanted me to do and thats what he told me is so, so special...I whispered that to him before he went, in the Hospital...I thanked him for everything that he told me and that travel to beautiful Jamaica and the massiveness of Africa!)..he read me his big book of writing..kind of poems, but they could have been lyrics he sang..fucking amazing stuff..his thoughts, how he saw stuff...I think influenced by him knowing that the end of his life was coming...But he knew and (at least said to me and no doubt others) accepted his death (even before he got sick..I remember Christmas a couple of years ago at home in our Front 'stoned uncle' Room..the day he told all us 'kids', including the 5 year old and the 7 year-old twins that Chris Rock was ChristMAS's brother, leading to something I dont remember clearly about Jesus being a black man), that it wasn't far and made it clear that death is the beginning of something great, the end of the misery of life..not that he saw all life as pain and misery..No way, he laughed and loves football and cooking up feast of 'nigger fried rice'!!! which is corned beef with oriental vegetables stirfried with basmati rice..yum, and his really spicy soup with every bit of meat and veg avaliable chucked in it (except for Pork because he didn't eat 'dirty pigs') that was the best hangover cure!! And when he told me off because it was blatant that I had too much to drink and dropped half the contents of my bag outside the house and puked up, managed to clean it all up but left the tell-tale door mtt upside down and slightly damp from being dunked in the sink to clean it..he was typical Uncle about it, warning me never to drink so much that I could't look after myself..made me feel bad, the bastard!! But then he just launched into a story about the first time he got drunk, his Garage workmates got him so wasted that he went to the toilet and had catastrophic diarroea..ew My Mum and sisters had to get to The Hospital all the way from Hampshire and they couldn't get in contact with Dad so in the end they set off, Jessica driving because Mum had the surgery the week before...I made it clear on the phone that it was a matter of hours before he died..Mum knew that her big Brother didn't have long but the fact was it was likely that when they arrived he would have gone...And it turned out that was the case - it was their three hour drive against My Uncle's diseased, broken lungs..after an hour or so they removed the breathing mask that, and in the end, no fuss, he just stopped, and he was gone like that. His Mum, two of his sisters, his ex-wife, his son's Mother, his son Beanie, his cousins, his two good friends were there with him when he went. It felt like everyone loved him and wanted to be there with him to reassure him as he left that they cared and that he wasn't alone...My Auntie started to sing hymns to him towards the end.. but it felt wrong, from what I knew about Frenchie that it was these Churchy songs being sung..not very HIM..I suggested something 'more reggaey'..and unsuprisingly we ended up with a rendition of 3 Little Birds..my other Auntie (his ex-wife) joined in and I joined in for a bit and it felt like the saddest thing but sooo hopeful and caring at the same time...if you have to go...have to die (which we all do, be it tommorow or next Thursday or 2999)..then that is the way you want to go...My Granma, as always appeared so strong, not crying but she said to the Doctors that she only seems that way..its her faith that gets her through all the horrible, painful, miserable time..'To worry is a sin' she said... My Mum and sisters arrived at the ward about an hour, an hour and a half after he died and was repositioned by the nurses and taken out of his clothes and put into an ugly hospital gown that Jordon, his daughter said he would have hated..he still had his knitted navy beanie cap that his short,fluffy dreadlocks stuck out off like pale silver steel wool...The Doctors said that he could hear us all talking to him, but they would say that of course they would, that's what we all wanted to hear. I hope that he could even if maybe he couldn't...I think he was aware and knew that everyone was there for him at the end...My Granma, strong as she seems to keep, has outlived her Son and her Granddaughter.. My Mums big brother has gone ..I'll miss Frenchie so much, he was totally unique and fun and inspiring... My favourite coolest, Rasta, 'crack-head'(in the best way!), Crazy Uncle Frenchie..I'll miss you and where ever you are keep making the beautiful music (with no more pain from broken lungs) and spreading the crazy word to anyone who'll listen! 4:31 p.m. - 2008-01-16 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||
|
||||||