BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

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Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 169 was perpetual failure to face bad things on behalf of those who depended on him. Now, with everyone watching, he was expected to go to his son, a dead body being put into the ambulance. Accompany it to the ER on a forlorn mission without hope of any good news. There can be no uglier moment in life than watching your child die, and/or seeing your dead child‟s body. Not possible under any scenario. It was one of only two times I recall him showing any strength of character, the other being the time he decked Merle Cobb. He got into the ambulance with me and held my hand, begging me to come back. As I watched from above, I was given a fantastic, delicious taste of what awaited me. In years since, I‟ve been asked to recount what happened that day. <strong>At</strong> times I learned new information, just hearing the words as they came out of my mouth. It was a time of absolute peace. No exceptions. Total serenity. No human traits … our emotions … existed. No anger, jealousy, envy, hatred, sexuality, covetousness, greed, malice, even aspirations. None of that. It‟s unnecessary and has no place. No purpose. The closest example I‟ve concocted is this: Imagine the happiest moment of your entire life. It was probably when you were falling in love, or at least thought you were. Everything was perfect. If it was hot, it was supposed to be hot. If it was rainy, it was supposed to be rainy. If it was cold, the chill was delicious. You simply couldn‟t get enough of it. If you ate something, it tasted better than anything you‟d ever put in your mouth. If someone spoke to you, they said exactly what you wanted to hear. If you spoke, it was with eloquence and precisely what needed to be said. Leviticus, Limited 33-0505963
Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 170 Everything, with no exception of any kind, was perfect. Now, multiply that imagined feeling by the largest number you can concoct, and you won‟t even be close. It‟s much better than whatever you came up with. Everything is perfect. In fact, we‟ll have no emotions. Those are only needed to be human, to deal with other humans. To survive in this weakened state as we exist in an imperfect world. What we have awaiting us is that perfect world we use as a figure of speech. I swear to you, the idea of coming back sure as hell wasn‟t mine. If it‟d been left up to me, instead of a street address in Oceanside, California, I‟d have a lot number in St. Vincent‟s Cemetery. I was right where I wanted to be, and saw no reason under the sun to come back to what I had. Even if I‟d known a happy life, which was far from the case for me, I wouldn‟t‟ve wanted to return to it. Not if it meant leaving what I‟d found in death. Not a chance. Unfortunately, that wasn‟t my call. The Big Guy was running things at that point, as always, and He decided to grant my old man‟s fervent prayers, for some reason. I was whisked from true heavenly bliss to, “Damn, that hurts like hell!” As a measurement, I‟d‟ve been elated and joyful beyond description to return to mere agony. It hurt much worse than that. The pain was, and will always be, beyond any descriptive abilities I, or any other mortal being, might create. It was intolerable, but I had to tolerate it. To endure. To suffer such as I‟ve never suffered before or since. Over the next six weeks, I received 270 pain injections. That comes out to around six and a half per day. The first ten days it was morphine every two hours. Blessedly, they kept me stoned as could be in an effort to numb the raging pain. <strong>My</strong> drug was soon changed to Demerol. They gradually moved the shots to three hours apart, then four. Leviticus, Limited 33-0505963
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BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

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