I went over to the Gulley’s Friday afternoon with some fresh cut sweet corn, Ed’s daughter Maggie had just come back from a trip to the Midwest with her daughter Morgan, who is considering colleges.

Maggie and Ed are close, when he woke up from a deep sleep, she helped Ed drawn and sketch with colored pencils. Ed had a difficult night Thursday, he was up feeling anxiety and frustration. In the morning, the family moved him to a lift chair, where he seemed to be more comfortable.

As he started drawing, Carol, Maggie and her son Cooper came in and all three gathered around the chair to help him, pass him pencils, hold the pad and watch him draw. I wondered if all of this attention bothered him, but it didn’t seem to, he says he  draws strength and  comfort from his family.

Cooper walked up to Ed and asked him what he was doing. I’m drawing, said Ed. “Can I help?,” asked Cooper, and he joined his mother in helping Ed draw. I saw that this was a beautiful thing for Ed, I withdrew, and then left.

I think the trick is knowing when to stay, and when to go, when you are needed, when you are not. This was family time that was critical to everyone involved. I was not needed.

Ed’s four children and their children are almost always moving in and out of the house. Many of them come a part of every day to run the farm, to bring in the hay and milk the cows and help birth the calves.

When Ed needs them to help him move or sit up – he can no longer do this by himself – they all appear almost magically and help out. They are always nearby or present or available.

This kind of family connection is alien to me, I always felt I was on my own except for my sister and most of the time i was. When I was in real trouble, my family were the last people I wanted to go to for help, or wanted around me in a crisis.

The family is just there – no drama, argument, hesitation or confusion, they have come together as one whole, and they are just taking care of things.

Ed is just the opposite. When he is in trouble, he wants his family around him, as often as possible, they are all eager to help. The grandchildren all know he is sick and dying, they never flinch from the hardest parts of Ed’s illness.

They are farm children. No one protects them, or lies to them, or sugar coats what is happening. At night, his sons come over to help him use the commode. They are eager to help. Ed is talking about gaining strength so he can  walk again.

When I drive by, I see them hauling hay, cleaning out the barn, tending to the calves, working just as hard as Ed and Carol always have.

When Ed wakes up, he wants to draw, it seems to steady him and calm him. He was very happy to see Maggie come back from her trip, and she was very happy to see him. “I missed you, Daddy,” she said.

“I missed you too, honey,” he said. As always, I am invited to dinner – a clam and fish fry – but I decline, I had to go to the Mansion to call the Bingo Game with Maria.

The hospice staff had come and gone, Ed was  checked, washed and given some medication.

Ed and I talked for a bit, but then, I took his hand and held it for a bit, and  said I would see him on Sunday. I confess to being a little worried about heading off with Maria Saturday night to finish the trip we started last week.

Last Sunday, as we headed for a museum, I looked on the Bejosh Farm Journal and read the reports of an alarmed Carol, she thought Ed was slipping  rapidly. We hurried home, but we bounced back the same day.

So  we’re going back to Massachusetts and staying over one night, we’re going to see a play at the Williamstown Theater Festival, going out to dinner, and then Sunday morning to Mass MoCA, the sprawling museum in North Adams, Mass. that we missed going to see last week.

We’re staying in one of the cheap and seedy motels that Maria loves, she is very happy in them.

Then home.

I told Ed I wouldn’t be around Saturday, but he didn’t mind at all, even if even heard me, he will be surrounded by people he loves and who love him. He will have plenty of company and attention and help,

Ed continues to decline a bit each day. His mind is fuzzier, he seems to be struggling with his breath sometimes, he  can move or control very little of his body. He is almost always uncomfortable.

It will be good to get away for a bit, I need it, and I think Maria does also. This is long game, not a short one, and if you can’t take care of yourself, you surely can’t take care of anyone else.

I love seeing Ed every afternoon, it is important to me,  and perhaps to him, but I also understand that it is draining and exhausting, I can only imagine how Carol feels.

I can still get Ed to smile, either by telling him a story about the excesses of the animal rights movement, or calling him a blowhard. He still has a ready  smile, he still has a comeback.

I do very little for Ed, I mostly bring some food and sit and be with him. The family does the hard and grinding work of caregiving.

But it affects me, of course, and I often feel spent when I get home.

Tomorrow, I’ll teach my class and then we will head out to Massachusetts for one night. I know I will be thinking of Ed, but I know I will be happy going.