Wife pregnant, mother dying.
Three day labor and traumatic dangerous birth.
Baby and wife survive, hooray!
Mom's health precarious...will she see the baby?
Emissaries visit the hospital and make impressions to hang on the dying woman's wall.
Out of the hospital into the car, straight as the crow flies to her bedside.
Bittersweet success, three days later she is gone.
I guess this kind of shit happens to people all the time, but I keep looking around for the camera crew. One is surreal enough, both of them entwined is genuinely soap Operatic.
More proof I'm living a movie:
I just called the mortuary to check on the death certificate.
A guy who sounded like a Spanish stevedore put me on hold where a Troy McClure sound-alike serenaded me with the depth of sensitivity I could expect from the caring professionals of McDermott/Crockett Mortuary.
He finished his spiel and it segued into a vaporous new age piano rendition of Wind Beneath My Wings that would have shamed Kitaro.
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