Grégoire Capron
jane kibutz 1
Jane Wedlake Cardiff UK died Nov 2014
The room with sofas with milked out windows remarkably blend, 3 strangers, She's brain dead, no hope left, we need to agree on a timescale to unplug her... no rush (but rush non the less, rush!), would you like to donate her organs? sister say no, one lap around block (sister in taught) in the fading light of the British grey gloomy winter, The blotted, almost unrecognisable figure that was once Jane in the bed, head half shaven,first surgery stitches now displaced by second surgery staples, with tubes sticking out of every orifices, including some that nature never intended was now “switched off”, the agony lasted some 11 hours, Gassing at the monitor, listening to the bits of the , I fall asleep out of exhaustion, 3 days without sleep, a hand on my shoulder “its almost over” and so it was, lines on the monitor flattening now chest rising sower and slower, then to zero, my love is dead... Tracey the young nurse, out a pamphlet, bereavement and burial....
Truly alone now, a quarter of century with Jane.... a week of platitudes, a life of pains.
jane kibutz 1
Jane Wedlake Cardiff UK died Nov 2014
The room with sofas with milked out windows remarkably blend, 3 strangers, She's brain dead, no hope left, we need to agree on a timescale to unplug her... no rush (but rush non the less, rush!), would you like to donate her organs? sister say no, one lap around block (sister in taught) in the fading light of the British grey gloomy winter, The blotted, almost unrecognisable figure that was once Jane in the bed, head half shaven,first surgery stitches now displaced by second surgery staples, with tubes sticking out of every orifices, including some that nature never intended was now “switched off”, the agony lasted some 11 hours, Gassing at the monitor, listening to the bits of the , I fall asleep out of exhaustion, 3 days without sleep, a hand on my shoulder “its almost over” and so it was, lines on the monitor flattening now chest rising sower and slower, then to zero, my love is dead... Tracey the young nurse, out a pamphlet, bereavement and burial....
Truly alone now, a quarter of century with Jane.... a week of platitudes, a life of pains.