of death and agents...

My assignment in life has me deal with death more often than I'd prefer.

Before I was placed in a deep cover role, I was assigned to a public benevolent operation for the working poor and homeless (the izzy group). During this assignment I discovered that the best way to "get in tight" with those we served was to become friends with them (see John 15 in The Book) as opposed to some sort of sterile director/client relationship.

I grew close to a number of people. And unfortunately, the people I grew close to typically have short life spans due to various habits and circumstances that the poor fall victim to: substance addictions, lack of health care resources, outdoor elements, mental disorders, etc.

I'm not a preacher but I've conducted two funerals, both for close friends of mine. It sucks. I can think of at least a dozen or so funerals I went to during the years of the izzy operation and about 3 in recent years.

All death sucks. No one enjoys it. Death snuck up on most all of my friends. They were happy and normal one day. Then the next day they were dead by some bad batch of drugs or they unknowingly had a disease or God knows what. Boom. They're here one day, gone the next. They weren't dying in a hospice for days where you have time to say 'good bye' or anything like that.

One really close friend of mine was mysteriously missing from our big food outreach one night. He was suppose to run the thing. I get a call that he's in the emergency room and things don't look good. I get there and the doc was just about to let me in to his room. As I touched the door knob those flashing lights on the wall go off. They push me out of the way and a chaplain ushers me into a "counseling" room. He dies.

I missed seeing him by 5 seconds.

Another guy I met was once homeless and living in the mesquite scrub brush camps by the tracks. He had come in for various help for months. Then he disappeared for months. Then he shows months later to tell me he's got a house and a job and just wanted to "thank" me for all the "help" and to invite me and Agent Wife over for dinner that week. We came and ate and had a good time. Five days later I read his name in the obituaries. He had unknowingly developed pneumonia while living out in the camps.

Now, as a secret agent, I'm dealing with death in an entirely different way: the slow, day to day, natural digression of an 88 year old diabetic. And this sucks just as bad as the others if not worse.

I watch Obi-Wan struggle with his body more and more daily. His blood sugar gets dangerously low because he forgets to eat or take his insulin. His breathing is sounding harsher than normal. He moves much slower and stumbles more than ever.

But I wanna tell you something, Death...you bastard...I'm not scared of you. Anymore.