R.I.P., Joseph Rosen


26400958_1513834829.0007_funddescriptionMy son, Joseph Rosen, died unexpectedly and suddenly, this past Sunday night/Monday morning, around Midnight. He went to the hospital with (they described as-) a "dislocated rotator cuff" of his right shoulder. Joseph has always been in the best of health. So, he expected to be released within a matter of hours. Upon examination, they discovered that he was retaining excessive liquid around his abdomen and decided to admit him, instead, to monitor it until Monday, when they'd be fully staffed. Somewhere between Saturday morning (when he was admitted) and Sunday night, something went horribly wrong (Sunday night) and Joe was pronounced dead by a little after midnight. Devastating! [NOTE: Joe was a doner. His eyes will be donated to give someone else the miracle of sight.]
Background info:
Joe's wife, Virginia, was stricken with MS (Multiple Sclerosis) shortly after their marriage in 2008. She is now permanently disabled and Joe had assumed full responsibility for her around-the-clock necessary care, having to give up his job to do so. The two have been barely making ends meet, financially, ever since. They are in debt due to medical and other related bills, in excess of $100 thousand dollars. They are poorer than Church mice!
This brings me to the reason I am asking for your "GoFundMe" help. There are no insurance policies. I called a few mortuaries for quotes and the bare-bones minimum I could find (which only covers transportation to the mortuary from the hospital and the cremation) is $2,000. Which, I was informed, was at a 50% discount. Please help us bury Virginia's husband/ my son. He was only 39 years old.
God bless you!
A close friend wrote the following prose, in respect to Joe's family and the grief of their loss...

The Well of Sorrow

There is no escape from this lonely land, this zone without reprieve.
Insular and insulating, it lacks all modern comforts and conveniences
No phones, no TVs, no theater, no Facebook, no airports,
No train stations, no harbors with vessels for charter, no cars.
You won’t even find a barefoot pony, here.

After you take the 7 giant steps of grief,
You’ll still be here.
And, it matters not a good goddamn
That you never wanted to come.
No one does.
Fate makes her selections
Without negotiation.

You can forget about “closure,” too.
That’s just an advertising strategy.

This is the vale of soul-making.
You’ve long been heading here.
All arraignments have been made.
Love brought you here.
Love keeps you here, like a prison keeps its prisoners.
I’ve also heard it said, “Love can lead you home again.”
I can’t vouchsafe that, it could be just another legend of the doomed
Whistled in the dark
Like Heaven or Redemption.
Something to Believe.

I think it will always be yesterday for you, now. Your calendars
Will always indicate today is December 18, 2017.
The clocks on your walls and the watches on your wrist
Will tell you it is always midnight.
And, so it will be for you.
Time slows to a crawl, then comes to a shattering stop
In this land of broken clocks.
Where Joy weeps and curses,
Where Hope turns away and hides her face in dark shadows.

So, hunker down.
Acquaint yourself with the terrain and its inhabitants.
Learn enough of the language to conduct the necessary transactions,
To observe the common courtesies.
Find a decent apartment,
Preferably in the darkness out on the edge of town.

Hold fast to this grief.
Wrap yourself up in it,
Like Lionel wraps himself up in that blanket.
That’s real.
Keep the lights low
And, nurture your darker moods and inclinations,
Which are also real,
And uniquely your own.
These bitter rituals will bind the ghost of your affection
To the axis of your winter world.

Honor this mourning.
When your belly demands food,
Feed it brambles and locusts.
When you thirst, vinegar shall be your wine.
When your ears demand song,
The “Adagio for Strings,” will silence them.
When your mind calls for whimsy,
Recite the names of the Dead.
Fill the well of sorrow
With the tribute of your tears.

This will take some time.
If there is an end to grief,
If the broken-hearted can ever again know wholeness,
If the lost can ever find their way home,
The way out … is the way through. "
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Organizer

Diana Rosen 
Organizer
Citrus Heights, CA
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