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Tuesday, January 25th, 2005
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11:26 am - Happy Birthday, Lonewolf.
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It's a big day.
Thirty is the age Lonewolf never thought he'd live past. It's ironic (in a not-actual-irony sort of way) how much he worried about this age, worried about getting past it, when he never made it here to begin with.
It was sad turning thirty myself; sad not to have him here. I didn't imagine it would be so hard not to have him here for his
big day. Long ago, I promised him a party for his thirtieth. Told him
that we would all throw him the biggest party he had ever seen. Then I
asked him how silly he'd feel when he finally made it.
Christ, did I never have a clue how bad it was.
Sorry, Lonewolf. And happy birthday. You're still in my heart.
Scout.
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| Friday, February 6th, 2004
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7:49 am - Hello.
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| Saturday, May 17th, 2003
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10:06 am - still shopping for a headstone.
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I've been hesitant to write anything. Knowing that every breath I take, every day I live longer, every time I write here about how I'm coping with the loss of Lonewolf, I push him down a little further. This is both figuratively, as well as literally speaking.
When I wake up every morning now, I roll over in my too big bed, stretch out my arm over Lonewolf's pillow, and come startlingly and suddenly aware that he is not there. And then I get up and take a Xanax.
As the day wears on, I find things to do. Go get the mail, develop photos, stare endlessly at the TV...it hasn't settled in yet, but I feel it working its sinister magic. I am beginning to know Lonewolf's absence. I am beginning to realize that he is not at work. He will not be home soon. I find myself holding the phone, waiting for his call. I have to go back to work on Tuesday, and he will not be there waiting for me when I get off. Waiting to walk me home from work like he has for so long. How do people get home alone with someone to hold their hand?
I know I did it before, but I don't know how to do it now. I think I was strong, but I don't remember. What's so fucking hard is that I don't want to remember. I want to remember the silly way we ALWAYS held hands. The strength of his arms wrapped almost twice around me. His scent. His constance. His love.
I went to the cemetery for the first time yesterday. I stood over his grave and told him, "I can't believe you're so far down there."
It poured rain.
I don't want to be strong. I don't want anything. I'm so sad and so angry at all of his doctors, and I just want him back. How do people DO this? HOW?
I can't believe you're so far down there.
And I'm so far up here, trying to learn to forget how I loved to lie in the crook of his arm at night. I told him almost every day how I LOVED the way he smelled. His scent was home to me, and now my apartment smells like dirty dishes and unopened windows.
I'm so far up here, and I live and I breathe, and every single time that I type a new entry, Lonewolf's last words get pushed further down the page, further into the ground, into obscurity, into a place that I'm not ready for them to go.
current mood: so, so disappointing
current music: quiet.
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| Wednesday, May 14th, 2003
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6:05 pm - one week down, one million years to go...
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Here is a poem that Lonewolf wrote for me a few years ago...
A dedication to my wife.
Thank You,
dear kitten
for all gifts given
so freely...
that I humbly receive from you
thank you,
my sweetestheart,
for the strength
to once again stand and
not to be broken
from the force of my own loathing,
for the only honest
reason to wake every morning
in a lifetime of startled eyes,
for the utter haven of each embrace -
the calming warmth that overcomes me
when i am held by you -
the comfort of being where i belong,
within your loving sight,
for the first true hope (my true love)
that i have ever known - the first
pleasantly imagined future,
for the faint
gift of kisses upon eyes
for the idyllic daydream of my
fingers caressing the back of your neck
for faith
for coming to live with me
for the most sincere
happiness I'll ever live within
(our lives shared)
I know you to be beautiful
and by my side for the rest of our days.
you've brought into my life
transformations, the strength to feel again,
and a profound inversion,
whereby it is now despair
that i only feel
once in a blue moon
- your lonewolf.
current mood: surviving
current music: mix tape: "happy birthday: ought two"
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| Tuesday, May 13th, 2003
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9:18 pm - lonewolf makes the best mix tapes.
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On Side A he wrote, "10/10/01 binary"
(he was pleased with my matrix-style birthday.)
On Side B he wrote, "27x heaven"
It's really weird, though, because there's this one Crowded House song that won't play on either side of my tape deck. (DO NOT YOU DARE TO MOCK ME FOR CROWDED HOUSE!)
I had to dig out Lonewolf's old walkman to play it, so I offer you the words here:
Four seasons in one day
Lying in the depths of your imagination
Worlds above and worlds below
The sun shines on the black clouds hanging over the domain
Even when you're feeling warm
The temperature could drop away
Like four seasons in one day
Smiling as the shit comes down
You can tell a man from what he has to say
Everything gets turned around
And I will risk my neck again, again
You can take me where you will
Up the creek and through the mill
Like all the things you can't explain
Four seasons in one day
Blood dries up like rain, like rain
Fills my cup
Like four seasons in one day
Doesn't pay to make predictions
Sleeping on an unmade bed
Finding out wherever there is comfort there is pain
Only one step away
Like four seasons in one day
Blood dries up like rain, like rain
Fills my cup
Like four seasons in one day
(There is no part of the song that doesn't hit a chord. If you haven't heard it, i suggest you find a way. It's wonderful. And terrible.)
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| Monday, May 12th, 2003
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12:49 am - It is done.
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Kinko's and those goddamn bright lights.
Finished Lonewolf's zine for the funeral tomorrow morning, but need to get to bed to wake up early.
Nobody called or wrote me today. (Well, maybe two, but it's a sad drop off from the past few days.)
You know, I really don't know how to swim; it's not just metaphor.
More on Lonewolf: he couldn't swim, either, couldn't drive (never learned), and did not know how to ride a bike. When you're not of average size, it's difficult to make the world fit you. Sometimes it's easier to give up than to fight. Lonewolf used to joke that the only way he could get anywhere was with his feet.
Those sweet, size 14-wide feet with long toes that I stopped and kissed as I said goodbye. How very appropriate for my last kiss upon him to be kissing his feet. He gave us all so much, I felt like I had to thank him somehow.
I love.
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| Sunday, May 11th, 2003
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9:53 am - you may not want to hear these things
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(but i'm petrified of forgetting, so I list them here...)
I buried my husband in his favorite, soft black corduroy pants, with the only belt he owned. I told them not to put it on too tight.
Brand new black socks, which he bought the day before, dark blue boxer shorts, and a brand new pair of semi-hip (though equally goofy) black velcro shoes.
He wore a t-shirt that had a Cat Power iron-on (which I made for him), under a nice button-down white dress shirt. He always complained that it was too long, so I asked that it be tucked in, though not too much. I asked them to leave the top two buttons undone.
I bought him a suit vest a while back, to help him (my preference, but he seemed to agree) look more like an '80s styler (nice pants, nice shirt, unbuttoned dress vest, tennis shoes, messy hair). think john hughes movies. let me tell you, the look suited him, and he wore it well.
He had a newish black jacket, thin cottony windbreaker type thingy, and I asked that he wear that, but at the last minute I remembered his jean jacket, which he coveted for so long and I finally bought for him for his birthday this year. I said to keep the black jacket on him, but to include the jean jacket, perhaps on the side or under his head.
I let him keep his cute plastic hello kitty wallet (sleeping Nyago), which he adored. He loved to buy these cheap little wallets at Sanrio stores, use them until they were falling apart, then get a completely different one. I offered many times to buy him a *real* wallet, but he was adamant. I think he like the tiny cuteness of hello kitty juxtaposed against his very tall, very dark, deep-voiced personality. To tell the truth, so did I. I loved the look people got on their faces when this giant man pulled out this sweet tiny wallet with a Hello Kitty character on it.
I didn't leave the credit cards, but I left him his I.D., a shiny gold Sacajawea dollar coin, several photos, and an old, weathered note I made for him nearly three years ago. He kept getting our new address and our PO Box confused, couldn't remember them, so I wrote them down. A little piece of paper folded in half. On the top were our new (at the time) addresses, and inside I drew two linked hearts and wrote the words, "home is where the wolf is." He transfered it from wallet to wallet since December of 2000. I left a bunch of junk in the wallet, too (old receipts and the like, since he was such a pack-rat).
I gave him his medicine and his house key, as well as a handkerchief. He always carried them because (he wouldn't want me to admit this), he was easily winded, and often wiped his brow with them. I bought them for him frequently because they seemed so distinguished, and Lonewolf had a timeless quality about him that appreciated such formalities as handkerchiefs. He once told me that he was always wishing that the fashion of men wearing dapper and stylish hats would come back into being.
We took photos with my i-zone camera, placed them in the little plastic box the film comes in, and sealed the with a blue ribbon. An arm's length photo I took of myself on the Saturday before he died, after getting dressed up (no reason in particular) to meet him at work. We were taking the bus to Target! He never saw the photo.
Also, there were pictures of: a tree outside in bloom, his kitty Kozmo, one of his arm holding our other cat Luna, one of his sister and mom and grandma, one of his friend Joe's awesome tattoo, one of his friends Joe and Avalon and Charlie, and I can't remember any others.
Lots of photos in his wallet, too. One of our kitties in a mock battle, where they stand on their hind legs and wrestle...makes them look like they're hugging. He always loved it when they did that. A picture (I think) of a tattoo I got in '98 or '99 of his name over my heart.
His teddy bear from childhood, named Teddy, which he once promised I'd send with him. It broke my heart to let it go, but I wanted him not to be alone.
His copy of the last Proust book in the series of "Remembrance of Things Past", which he was planning on reading while he recovered. He had spent YEARS reading through the others.
Pens because he loved to write.
I had them put on his medic-alert bracelet, though he hated to wear it, as well as his watch. Both on his right hand, though he wasn't left-handed. When we met, we both found it funny that we had the same trait of wearing watches on the hand we wrote with (opposite of tradition). I took out the battery, and turned back the clock to read May 7th, 12:28 (AM), which is when they say he died.
I couldn't bear to think of that watch ticking underground, while he wasted away.
He had no autopsy, at his request, and was not embalmed. It was Lonewolf's wish (after years of being poked and prodded and gawked at because of the many physical manifestations of Marfan Syndrome) that he just be left the fuck alone. He specifially requested burial. he did not want to be cremated.
We talked about these things on and off over the 6+ years of our relationship, and I'm as glad as a person in my position can be when I think that I carried out his wishes.
Except one.
He asked to be buried with his wedding ring. He loved it so much. Thick and white gold, loose on my thumb, engraved with the word, "Forever".
I'm so sorry, Lonewolf, but I could not let it go.
current mood: absolute shit
current music: background noise
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9:51 am - the widow's handbook, part two.
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9:46 am - the widow's handbook, part one
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no matter how well intentioned you are, do not utter the phrase, "how are you doing?"
even if i appear to be holding it together, i am not. i am not doing well. i am not. i am not.
i am treading water, but i don't know how to swim.
may i suggest, "hello, i've been thinking about you."
or perhaps, "i wanted to check in on you and let you know i care."
offer to help, but don't talk on and on. try to ask simple questions. use your best judgement.
but i am not good at all.
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9:05 am - it ran only one day.
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| Saturday, May 10th, 2003
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5:13 pm - kickwriting
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Okay, I'm going to start this by answering a question which I know Lonewolf appreciated the mystery of.
123forever is a song by Patterns Make Sunrise (the old band of LW's good friend Avalon). There is no way anyone could have figured out the mystery; I think LW secretly enjoyed people trying to figure out the reference, knowing that they had a slim to none chance of figuring it out.
Avalon is behind me now saying, "Lonewolf kindly enjoyed Patterns MAke Sunrise."
Speaking of Avalon, he and I just spent a couple hours under the harsh glow of Kinko's fluorescent lighting. What were we doing, you ask?
Well, last night, we found the lay-out for Lonewolf's last zine. We pieced together what we could from shared memories of his intent, as well as some stunning lay-out on the part of the author.
Beautiful pictures, an excellent poem...looks good. A few finishing touches, and it'll be great.
I hate to have to charge for it, but it's a little pricey to make, so if you want a copy (oh, you so do), send 2$ to our PO Box here:
Scout + Lonewolf
950 Lloyd Center #31
Portland, Oregon 97232
or e-mail me at softiebear@msn.com, and we can work out a deal.
I'll put some choice poems up here on this site as well. Stuff that he left out of the zine.
current mood:  depressed
current music: can't listen to much yet, but Lungfish rings true
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5:08 pm - SOUTHEAST
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Um...Lonewolf's funeral is actually on SouthEAST 21st and Morrison. I'm changing it below, but I just wanted to make the correction here, too.
Sorry.
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| Friday, May 9th, 2003
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6:08 pm - to sleep, perchance to dream
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Lonewolf will be having an informal memorial service this Monday, May 12, 2003.
Lone Fir Pioneer Cemetary
Southeast Morrison & 21st Avenues
11:00 AM
If you can be there, please do. If you can't please think of him at that time. No flowers please. I'm swamped, and my kitties keep trying to eat them. If you come to the service, you can bring flowers for him, but I'd prefer a donation to the Oregon Chapter of the National Marfan Foundation if you plan on spending any money.
Thanks so much.
I promise lots of happy posts later. I have some great stories.
over & out,
scout.
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5:00 pm - Sometimes things can happen just like this. (snaps fingers)
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I can't believe Lonewolf had that posted as his bio.
...Just when I thought my heart was totally ripped out, well then, there you go.
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4:22 am - Here is where things go terribly wrong...
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When Lonewolf and I got married, our friend Keyan acted as minister. We're not religious, so I gave him an old journal from my goth days, and asked him to work out whatever he wanted to say.
In homage to Lonewolf (the world's biggest Prince fan), it was the opening to "Let's go Crazy."
As a side note, I honestly believe he's not alone right now. He did so much by himself. He was so solitary, so self-posessed. I lived for him. I waited for him to go to movies. I never ate alone. He bought a ticket to the Prince concert a few years back, went, and rocked out. He loved every minute of it.
Anyway, after our second anniversary, I found the book, and began writing to him in it. First there's the prerequisite love note, then what we did together for every anniversary. Just the other day, we were talking about how we hadn't filled in the last two years. It was a project we were going to do together while he was recovering.
Yesterday, I decided to fill them in. I can't remember 2001. I'm killing myself over it. 2002 was great. We went to the Oregon Coast Aquarium. There will be no 2003. Our anniversary is July 20. It's so close, I don't knw what to do. I'm okay living in the moment, but I start to have panic attacks whenever I think about the future. I don't know how to live without him. Everyone keeps telling me that I'm one of the strongest people they know. I don't know how to tell them that I am so very very weak. My strength was six-feet-six-inches-tall of hero that held me up and made me believe that I could go to the movies alone once in a while. I believed in me because I believed in him. Now what the fuck have I got?
For those that didn't know, Lonewolf was a poet and a photographer. I have boxes of pictures, books of half-finished poetry. He had gotten pretty close to giving up these things, and it always broke my heart. I tried to encourage him, but as you well know if you've read his previous entries, he'd been sealing himself shut for sometime. Some friends of his and I watched the video of our wedding last night. I forgot he could smile so much. My God, he really really loved me. I've never been able to say that with more conviction.
Yesterday, I also wrote in the journal what had happened to him. I wanted him to know. God, he'd be so pissed.
We got to the hospital before 6:00 AM. We waited with knots in our stomach. They finally took us back, gave him his king size gown, weighed him, checked his blood pressure, all that crap. They shaved his chest and his legs just in case they might need a vein during surgery. Lonewolf didn't like that idea. We met his anaesthesiologist who was a total dork (but in that way that makes you feel totally confident). A woman from pastoral services came by. We were polite, but dispatched with her pretty quickly.
Lonewolf worried about all of you, he fussed over me, he got his I.V., and it was almost time to go.
The last thing he said was, "I love you, Scout."
I said, "I love you so much. I'll see you when they bring you back up."
I followed his gurney as far as they would let me, and he went to pre-op. From what I understand of what they told us in the weeks before surgery, he was going to have a camera down his throat before they began, in order to take better pictures of his heart. Luckily, he'd be under for that.
When they were ready, they split his sternum, opened him up, and saw that big giant heart that loved so much. He took on som much from everyone else, and I truly believe he held it there until he was so full of everyone else's griefs and woes, that they needed a surgeon to relieve the pressure.
Lonewolf's aortic root had grown to about 6 cm, or three inches. That is VERY large. The surgeon was going to replace a piece of his ascending aorta with an artificial one, and replace his valve with a new one. Lonewolf also had Mitral Valve Prolapse, which means that blood can leak back past the valve when it shouldn't. That part was not life-threatening, but it weakened the effectiveness of his heart's ability to send blood to his body.
It took a long time for Lonewolf to come out of surgery. Around 3:30 PM, the surgeon finally came out. He said that they hadn't seen in his previous echocardiograms that he had an oddly placed coronary artery. They took a vein from his leg after all to replce it. There had also been a large amount of bleeding when they tried to close him up. Apparently, Marfan's patients have very soft tissue, and his wasn't holding well. When they felt that he was okay, they closed him and sent him upstairs to Critical Care. The surgeon seemed quite optimistic, and said I could see him in an hour.
I ran home, showered, changed clothes, and was back in 45 minutes. They let me in, and I nearly died.
His skin was yellowish orange from the betadine, his leg was wrapped in bandages from where they had taken the vein, and a thin sheet covered him. He had so many I.V.s in him that they were everywhere in the room. He was covered with a thin sheet, and I was so scared.
The night nurse, Kristi, had me wash my hands, then told me I could hold his had if I wanted. Oh God, I wanted to so bad. I wondered if those hands were so soft because of his Marfan's, and he opened his eyes.
He panicked. Kristi put her hand on his head, told him he was okay, asked him to calm down and made himpromise not to bite down on his respirator tube. He nodded slowly. She said, "Your wife is here. She's been waiting for you all day." He turned his head and looked at me. Beautiful brown eyes. I tried to slide my hand out of his so that I could touch his face, but he held on. I squeezed his hand back and told him to rest. I told him that we were all so very proud of him and that when this was all over, he'd be happy and healthy.
Kristi asked if he was in pain. He nodded slowly again, and tried to point at his chest. His arms were restrained to keep him from knocking out his I.V.s, so he couldn't move them. The nurse told him that, and he nodded. She gave him morphine and he passed out again.
I was only allowed to stay until 7:00 P.M., when they had a shift change. The nurse let me stay until 7:15, and then i realized I needed to make some calls. I called Lonewolf's mom and told her that it was lookin good. I explained what had happened, and also told her that all the nurses loved Lonewolf's hair. She told me about how when Lonewolf was born, it was the same.
I called my Mom and some friends, gave them updates, ate a sandwich from a vending machine all alone, then paced until they let me back in. The new nurse, Leilani, buzzed me back at around 8:45.
She said that he had been too acidotic (?), then too alkali in his stats, so they were keeping him knocked out, She suggested I go home and get some rest, but it was all ready dark, and I promised him that I would be there when he woke up. Everytime I had to leave the room, I was anxious with the idea of him waking up and wondering why it was so dark. He probably thought he'd be awake by 4 or 5.
I stayed with him and held his hand, but the nurse asked me not to talk to him, because they didn't want him awake yet. She said if all went well, they'd start decreasing the meds that were keeping him out in about two hours.
At 10:00, Leilani asked me to leave so that she could clean up and take care of some things. She asked me to give her half an hour. I lied down in the empty waiting room, fell briefly asleep (10 minutes), and woke to a voice mail message from Lonewolf's boss a Cinema 21. He was wishing the best, and I thought of calling him back, but was chomping at the bit to see Lonewolf again.
I contemplated going home. Lonewolf and I don;t have a car, and I'd been awake since 4:00 AM. I called the bus information line and realized that the last bus for the night would be leaving in seven minutes. I hemmed and hawed, but couldn't leave.
At around 10:20, I begged to be let back in. Leilani told me that they had just sent Lonewolf's stats to his doctor, and they were almost ready to bring him around. Leilani started talking to Lonewolf, telling him that she was decreasing the medicine that made him sleepy. He slowly started to come around. I held his hand the whole time, and he didn't panic. He lightly squeezed my hand.
The nurse asked him to wiggle his toes, and he did. She told him to squeeze her hand, and he squeezed mine, too. She told him to squeeze harder, and I was so proud of him. I told him how strong and brave he was.
Leilani called in another nurse to begin to ween him from the respirator. They turned the oxygen down a bit, and encouraged him to try to breathe. He did well. They turned down the oxygen a bit more and asked him to try to blow through the respirator tube as hard as he could.
He did great.
But suddenly, Leilani said, "I don't like how this is looking, let's bring him back up." I think they turned his oxygen back on. They told me to leave, and I ran outside the door and lloked through the window just in time to see him thrashing and convulsing. Another nurse made me leave.
Alarms began going off in the critical care unit, people were running in the opposite direction. I heard a repeated announcement of, "Code 19, Room 22, Pod D". I was nearly hyperventilating.
I wanted to saty, but I wanted to be out of the way. I went back to the waiting room, and the doors closed and locked behind me.
I was all alone. There wasn't even anyone else in the waiting room. I tried calling my friend Erika, who had sat with me most of the day. It was around 11:15 PM. Erika wasn't answering her cell phone. I called my parents in California. They told me to calm down. My dad said that it's better that they took a long time...that way I knew they were taking care of them. I tried to think positive. but I needed someone with me right then. I called Erika's cell phone again, then looked up her home number. I told her to hurry up, that I was freaked out and I couldn't take it. She said she was on her way. It was 11:35.
I called my parents back, and they talked to me until Erika came. By that time, it was about 12:10, and I was seriously going to throw up or pass out. At 11:20, I couldn't wait any longer. I picked up the phone to the critical care unit and told them that I had to know how my husband was.
They put me on hold.
When she came back on the line, she told me that Dr. Molloy would be out when he was done. I thought it was good news that his surgeon was there.
At 12:30, the Doctor came out with Leilani, looked at me and shook his head.
Can you believe the prick?
I thought for sure that he would tell me that things looked bad, but he was under observation. Instead he said, "He didn't make it."
That's all I can do now. I'm about to collapse.
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4:08 am - Okay, I think I'm ready for this.
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Scout here.
I've been trying to get into Lonewolf's accounts yesterday and today. It was shockingly easier than I expected. I guess I did know him after all.
Lonewolf had the most amazingly soft hands. I don't know if it was because of his Marfan's Syndrome or because of his general disdain of hard labor, but it was unbelievable. While he was in critical care, I held his hand for hours at a time.
Reading all these entries breaks my heart. We talked every day, but he was a very quiet and dignified person. One of the last things he asked me was how I was doing. I said, "Fuck all that. How are YOU doing?"
He shrugged and replied, "My mighty stoicism is finally coming in handy."
We had a nice laugh at that. I told him I was telling EVERYONE how emo he was.
He told me that he couldn't wait to tell all his online friends that he was okay. It was one of the first things I thought of when I could begin thinking again. I'm on lots of medication. Anti-depressants, xanax, sleeping pills. If the doctor knew how pointless my life was, she never would have handed them over.
I lived for that man. Every single day. Nobody has ever meant as much to me as Lonewolf. Nobody can hold a candle to his artistic spirit, his subdued passion, his quiet dignity.
Listen, I need to post the gory details. I have to keep saying it and saying it and saying it until it doesn't hurt anymore. I'll open another subject so that you can skip it if you need.
There should be a service on Monday at Lone Fir Pioneer Cemetary in Portland, Oregon. I heartfeltly encourage the whole world to be there. I've started crying again. It's so sad that he thought he had no friends.
Please come if you can. Email me (Scout) at softiebear@msn.com, and I'll also post here any details. Please pass this site on to anyone who wants an update. I can't really respond to all the individual emails just yet. I'm trying, but I only ate an apple slice yesterday.
Thank you all so much. Thanks for contacting me. Thanks for loving him. I'm sorry you couldn't meet him. You'll never know a finer man.
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4:06 am - trying.
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| Monday, May 5th, 2003
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9:34 pm - tomorrow
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Well, tomorrow is my surgery, I check in at six a.m. By this time tomorrow I will be doped up, hooked up to tubes, with a piece of plastic and metal where part of my aorta used to be, and a split sternum held together with wire. If all goes well.
Not sure when I'll post again.
current mood:  scared
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| Tuesday, April 29th, 2003
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1:17 pm - bruises that won't heal
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I had a dream of a fish eating a fish that was eating another fish. They were my(imaginary) fish, and I was very upset.
My surgery is a week from today. I'm so not fucking ready for this.
current mood:  blank
current music: lightning bolt
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| Saturday, April 26th, 2003
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9:56 pm - fucking christ
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Well, today was an unusual day at work. I was selling tickets in our box office, which is a little five foot by six foot room, with windows on the two sides that face the street. Just before the four o'clock show was about to start, this homeless looking man came out of nowhere. He screamed "I kill!", and shattered the side window, a foot away from where I was standing. He had something heavy in a sock that he swung against the glass. He screamed "I kill!" again and swung it against the front window... it was shatterproof glass, so it just cracked. He then tried to get in the theatre, but the employee who takes the tickets held the doors closed and shouted at the man to leave. He slipped on our tile floor, then picked himself up and took off down the street. It all happened very fast. He was totally insane. I called 911, and the manager came up to deal with our shocked customers and all the broken glass. The cops came, but they hadn't found the guy, and unless they just happen upon him, they aren't likely to. So he gets to be deranged and violent and wandering around for awhile longer.
I was pretty shaken up, but I'm just glad it wasn't any worse. At least he didn't take a swing at any of the customers, or come at me after he smashed his way in. When it started I thought at first that he was trying to rob the place, it was sort of a relief to realize that he was just insane and that breaking the glass was as far as it was going to go. I was buzzed on adrenaline for a while afterwards, I hate that feeling.
Not a cool day.
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