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2002-01-24 5:55 p.m.
I know what the worst feeling in the world is. Reaching out to hold someone's hand, and getting no response at all. I really thought I was going to be OK with this. Intellectually, I knew he was in a coma. But I wasn't ready for the truth. There's a world of difference between knowing something and living through it. He was just lying there. His eyes were open, but not seeing anything. Amanda asked if we wanted to be alone, and say goodbye. There wasn't anything I could have said. He wasn't even there. His eyes closed, and I freaked out, thinking This Was It, but then I glanced at the machines. Three assisted breaths, then two on his own. This is alive? Well, then, I guess he's still alive. *** I really wish I believed in God. I want more than anything right now to be able to convince myself that the pain is ended and he's going to a better place and all that other crap. I can't do that, though. This is the best I can do: Andy, I really hope you go somewhere. I hope there's lots of Guinness, and all the cassettes turn into Queen, and there's goldfish shoals nibbling at your toes, and a million books and lots of music and someone you can argue with. I'm going to miss you so much. Take care of yourself. I love you.
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