For Larry

February 24, 8:15 AM

Our friend Larry is gone. A little over an hour ago his spirit was released. Patti was with him. He was at peace. His suffering is over. But Larry's scholarship, wisdom, love of beauty, and kindness live on in his work, in his plants, in the thousands he touched as teacher and friend.

Ingrid

February 22, 12:45 PM UPDATE

Patti asked me to share the following notes with Larry's faculty family. Patti will be arriving late tonight and go directly to the hospital. Please, try to support her and Barbara who has given so much for over a year, and especially over the past couple of months, to save our friend.

As I begin to mourn, with only a tiny sliver of hope left, I realize that at times the greatest sign of love is the willingness to let the other go, to allow the buttefly to emerge from the cococoon.

Sadly,

Ingrid

From: Patti Clarke
Sent: Wednesday, February 22, 2007 12:33 PM

I talked to Dr. Cook this morning and Uncle Larry is not getting better. They are discontinuing his dialyses today. He said it should probably be only a day or two before Uncle Larry passes.


From: Patti Clarke
Sent: Wednesday, February 21, 2007 3:11 PM

I wanted to let all of you know that I have just faxed the hospital requesting that they discontinute any further life-sustaining treatments on my Uncle Larry.

It was his wish to never be in this situation and I should have stopped it earlier.

Thank you for being part of his family. He was stuck with me, but his real family has been the University and all the wonderful co-workers and students.

___________________________________________

February 12, 1:07 PM UPDATE

I just had a call from Patti, Larry's niece. She had talked to Barbara, and apparently Larry is awake and watching the SciFi channel! One of his doctors is ordering physical therapy for his legs.


THERE IS HOPE!

November 2006

February 8, 2007

February 2007

I see you,
Larry my friend,
under that harsh hospital light,
lying so still,
a soft little toy kitten taking the place
of Snow, your white cat patiently waiting for you at home,
tubes and wires and sensors connecting you
to dials and monitors with numbers and green squiggly lines
and beeping alarms,
a cyborg almost, yourself,
a creature out of your beloved sci-fi books and films.

Will the Tigecycline succeed
where the other magic bullets failed?
Are the bacteria dying for a change,
their ribosomes incapable of further protein synthesis?
Will you wake up and laugh about these reflections one day
as you tend to your orchids
and design detailed map-tests to confound our students?

You are quiet, so quiet, too quiet . . .
And yet, at least you seem free of pain.
And I hope and pray that somewhere
in the deepest recesses of your soul
you know how much you are loved.

Ingrid