Poor Indie is not doing well. He is back in Hospice now. I hadn’t been by in a month, and I was shocked at his condition yesterday. Bless his heart, all he wanted to know about was how I was doing.
“Tommy, how’s life treating you?”
“For goodness sake, Indie. I’m fine. How are you man?”
“Great. This place is like a candy store. They’ll give you all the Morphine you want.”
“You pretty comfortable?”
“Yeah, they see to it. Besides if I’m not I tell ’em I’m gonna let you know. They know you’ll raise hell. I get what I need.”
“Good. Let me know if you don’t.” I was sure he would. Our Hospice is great.
He rolled over in the bed, fluffed his pillow and tried to sit up. “How’s the book coming?”
“Fine. At least the powers that be are reading it. We’ll see.”
“I don’t think I am going to make it to the finish line.”
“Sure you are, Indie. Of course you will.”
He smiled. “Tommy, you have the brain of a grown man, but the heart of a child. You’ve a doctor. You’ve seen my x-ray. I cough up more blood every day. Hell, I’m short of breath just to turn over.”
I smoothed back his hair. “You’re gonna make it. I know you are….”
“You’re a good boy. I want you to make sure to play a song at the funeral. I want “You go to Your Church and I’ll go to Mine.”
“Dang it Indie. Don’t talk that way. You’ve got to keep going.”
“Hell, I’ve read the manuscript. It’ll see the light of day one way or another. As far as I am concerned I get to live forever ’cause of you. Damn boy, you immortalized me. I won’t forget it.”
“No one could ever forget you, Indie.”
He rolled over and began to snore. I pulled his covers up and tucked him in.
He looked up. “Don’t forget the tune. Promise?”
“Anything you want, pal.”
“Good.” He drifted off.
When you have friends as brave as Indie how can you ever worry over trivia again?
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