Quote:
Originally Posted by JPA Cate
Hello, all, and hi, Wolfie,
Ann
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Good morning Ann,
you are always so wise... thanks for this.
no worry, i am staying very much on the periphery of this story, having spoken on the
phone, sent text messages. small things (simple kindness) to follow up on a long conversation involving his stories of doctors and hospitals and pain and treatments (oh my! do avoid!).
and no, i'm not inclined to engage, as there was never a high level of emotional connection, just friendship (at least on my behalf). i just needed to talk about the things i cannot say to him directly (like please do not pollute the ocean and please make someone else's life wonderful by donating your boat). i cannot say these things and will not and greatly appreciate being able to discuss my frustration with others here. it does help.
as for rules and regs, he's got this covered, has residency in a couple of places, can manage a calculated eclipse... i'm not nearby, so will in no way be present. i may not even ever know if he does it and when. and, this is a good thing for me as far as rules and regs go (these days folks cannot tell others of their plans without implicating them), but it does also mean that any last farewell will not be able to happen in that timely, meaningful way.
i once got drunk (super rare occurrence but well worth it in this case) with a woman my mother's age (we are still very close, which is wonderful) who
lost her husband to suicide... she kept going over all of the different lies he told all the different people who loved him, so to succeed. she had to go back and forth and back and forth just to make the smallest of sense. it was as though she was stranded in a labyrinth, unable to find her way. i accompanied her there, in those painful bits and pieces of memory, as i could. years later, she was the only person who really understood when i was faced with my own tragic loss.
and unsaid farewells can linger. i haven't lived in my home country in ages, so, for a while there, it was easy not notice how so many must have passed at some moment. you know, like a
school teacher, university professor, a friend's parents, and one's own friends... all those people who were there, seemingly permanent fixtures of my young person's world.
not knowing is just something we all accept but we can and do wonder about from time to time. so often now, when on public transport, i look around at all the souls there and imagine which may be around in X number of years (and how these remaining will not think twice of those who are absent - life is so much more fleeting without memory). i take note, even here on CF, when some voices fade away and others take their place... so, here too, i appreciate this conversation, to tackle the way to muster a personal farewell so that the not-knowing will not linger about, flutter in and out, in between my thoughts.
and now, following a very honest and supportive conversation on here last night (this space has lots of good folk!) and a good night's sleep, i awoke with a thought:
do you remember how your mind/body reacted when about to go through revolving doors for the first time? i remember clearly, was a kid in
NYC and the huge doors moved fast and spun about with a certain, winter-time, busy-body violence. i remember how i paused for second, took stock of my own feet (shoes even) and where i was, given the timing of the doors.
well, this morning i kind of equated this type of experience to that of a person who realises he/she has just months to live. i imagined that, when confronted with a death sentence, we ask ourselves many quick-n-tough questions so to gage our position and take stock of our step/rhythm from there to here. there is that deep second of fear, in which we know we are being stunned, like a deer in the headlights, when the back of our heads wake up and make our bodies brace. at this moment, everything speeds up: our imaginations provide quick glimpses of the possible hiccups that could take place once we step into the revolving doors. and if we are with someone, others, we gage the separation from them as we step through... first. at last, when we feel the moment has arrived (and we realise it is our turn to step through), we try to sink into/hold onto a settled feeling, before taking one last, deep, lifting breath of hope.
i imagine that, when so close to the revolving doors of death, the measuring/gaging we do has a whole lot to do with finding that settled feeling of peace: peace with ourselves, with others, with our past, with what we never did (regrets), with world at large, with the doors themselves, with the fear and potential pain or loss of it...
so, maybe the need for peace becomes so great that it drives every thought and action...? perhaps. perhaps this is th mental
work we do when we lose everything. and perhaps peace is the only thing the living can 'give' to a dying soul.
i think i understand something that i did not understand before.
thank you Ann. you are always there for me! i appreciate it!
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