Against the dying.

There is this natural state of abhorrence for the dying. It isn't personal. It isn't meant to be a rejection. But it is. In many ways it is the separation of the cloying stench of a departure to the netherworld before it muddles with the scents of the still living. The freshness of life. The mirth. The expectation. All that we wish things to be. Those things are precious. And we try to shield our state of living away from the used up shells of who humans become when they are close to their departure from this earth.

I never thought that I would look at things as an energy efficiency type study. I never thought I would look at my life and say those four hours, they were a waste of time, a devotion to an exercise in futility. But I now have begun to see things that way. I am beginning to become more protective of the people who have more time left on this planet, who still have longevity, who still could benefit from those four hours, versus those who on some levels may not even know that I was there, or that it was really hard for me to be there, and that my time is the ultimate gift I can give.

But this personal abhorrence I realize isn't just my own. I look around. Besides the cards that a few sent in the beginning and despite flippant offers of "help",  only one of her friends regularly shows up. No one phones anymore. All of this unpleasantness, the starkness, it isn't appropriate when the rest of us are just jolly trying to be alive and carry on living. How dull to bring an almost dead person to a birthday party. Just like there are age limits on certain movies, perhaps there should be death limits on people too. "OH... sorry.... He's too close to death to bring to this side of the shopping mall, we only deal with people in the 1-5 year mortality range. I would suggest you take him over on the west side, they will know what to do with people like him better than I... Plus all that mortality and humanness is upsetting to the customers".

You upset people in your life whilst you are living. Everyone always has an opinion of how you could have done things better. And you upset them in your death. You can follow all of the rules, work your fingers to the bone, be an upstanding and honorable person, a good person, a courageous, kind and caring person yet die the most undignified of deaths alone. Everyone too will have an opinion of how you went. Like you somehow were able to choose this personal hell that you currently live and are dying in. Maybe you should have chosen a better way to go, a more peaceful, or socially acceptable, polite, or perhaps a way that was easier on the eye.

Your last days, although your family means well, are strained. They cant help but want you to be the way that you were before this ghastly illness consumed you and ate you up from the inside.

Your daughter, she balances the life of two glorious babies, aged ten and six, as she balances hers, as she balances trying to help you enjoy a semblance of yours. She is just lost in this muddle of hating the oppressive yoke of the guilt attached to this duty. And knowing that one day soon she will miss this day more than anything. She watches you drink your latte. She tries to make peace. She tries to bring joy to that place behind your blue sapphires. And she wonders how she is going to ever continue on without you. 

When I leave.

When I leave, it is the most unnatural thing to do. I find myself sitting in the car for several minutes beyond the time that I have watched you follow your dad inside, windows up so the mosquito's do not invade my space and travel home with me, dive-bombing me as I drive along the winding country roads.

When I leave, I leave you with him. I leave my reason to wake up in the morning, my everything, with the person that I divorced. I leave you with the person that I said I do not want to be around me. I leave you with my ex. I leave you with my past. I leave you with the broken pieces of the life I discarded. I leave you with your dad, and I get to drive away.

You are ten and six. Little ladies, so full of love, so full of trust. My six year old suddenly talks on the phone. Do you know how unnatural it is to be that distant from your babies that you have to talk with them on a phone? My children had never used a phone up until six months ago. I noticed that last night, my six year old now carries on full conversations on this talking device that connects the span between two now distant lives. I am used to conversations where their breath tickles my face, where I can wrap my arms around their baby bodies, where they have no concept of personal space, because we have always been so close.

You sleep in a bed, in a house, and eat food, off a plate, and do things, I assume, of which I have no knowledge. In your absence, I hang out with the dogs, I let the cat sleep in my bed. Yes he did wake me at one and pick his nails with his teeth. I potter around, I eat cereal. No point in cooking if my babies are not home.

I watched you follow your daddy into the house on Friday. He had bags full of treasures from the store. Yahtzee. A pink inflatable furry chair. You helped carry in these things... Your heads were cocked with the pride of little girls so enamored with their father. Your arms held these bags of treasures ahead of you, like some spoils from some battle. You entered the house, shut the door and I sat, like some third wheel in the drive way.

I wish that bags full of colourful treasures, that all the board games in the world, could make up for your loss. I wish that adult politics never had to cast even a shadow, yet create a rain cloud, on the sunny days of your youth. I pray so much for your lives. I pray for the influence of people who you will meet along the way. I pray especially for the people that are brought into your life by your parents. I pray for you to retain your innocence... Lord Jesus... I pray your precious blood over those babies...The adults in their selfishness have hurt two beautiful little girls. Forgive me dear Lord and help me to be the mom that they need.