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.