Another One Gone...

Jimmy "Big Jim" Dias went maki. I was there.
It was a beautiful death... and what a party: Choke grinds, kanikapila, much aloha. More soon...







Aloha,
Da Fish

A Good Death

I spent 5 weeks visiting my old high-school chum and longtime friend Jimmy Dias in the hospital. After a month, they told him he would have to spend at least two months or longer in a nursing home. He couldn't even feed himself. His stomach ruptured to to an ulcerated lesion and they had to remove much of it. His left leg became swollen and infected because of his diabetes and his heart problems. Toward the end of a month, Jimmy became very despondent. He knew he wouldn't make it and told every nurse and the few friends that came to visit that he was born in Queen's Hospital and he would die there. He just gave up. I was with him almost everyday and then he had a cardiac arrest.
He was in a coma for several days but no one found him when his heart stopped (he was in the damn hospital) and may have been ignored for as long as 32 minutes. He never fully regained consciousness although we had a few days where he shook his head "yes" and "no" and even kinda smiled once. His eyes were vacuous but once or twice he focused on friends and family for a fraction of a second. We like to believe he knew he was not alone.

I had left my number on his bulletin board as I was his only contact person. His family didn't even know he was ill. But then, the coconut wireless began to work and work well. One by one many of his 10 siblings heard about his condition and began to show up. Dozens of Nieces and Nephews and their children came. I was taken in to their O`hana as one of their own. I even got to voice my opinion, based on conversations Jimmy and I had had the previous 4 weeks, as to his wishes.

On Sunday, October 2, the birthday of his only son, life support was disconnected. More than 60 relatives and dozens of children were there, in the waiting room, eating a huge Pot-Luck meal and telling stories of remembrance. At any given time there were15-20 of us in his room with him. The nurse was in about every 15 minutes with another injection of morphine to make him comfortable. His breathing slowed to about once a minute and at any sign of thrashing around or discomfort, the nurse was there with another shot. Jimmy opened his eyes for the first time in three days, just for a few seconds and looked around the room. I told him that "Everyone was there. He wasn't alone." About 10 family members sang songs in Hawaiian for about a half an hour and people were constantly in and out from the feast at the courtyard to pay their last respects. At 2:25 p.m. on October 2, 2005, Jimmy was pronounced dead. People lingered for several hours and came in to talk to him. It was one of the most beautifully profound experiences of my life.
-------------------------------------------------