Monday, Mar. 02, 2015 2:00 PM
“The truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off.” ― Gloria Steinem
Still no ring. I can't find it anywhere. I've searched high and low and retraced my steps to no avail. I keep consoling my loss with the fact that I still have my engagement ring. "Well, at least you still have this. It could be worse!" I keep chanting in my head. I have a little sliver of hope that it's in my house somewhere. But the anxiety of losing something precious to me is driving me up the wall.
I try to occupy my mind. Read this. Read that. Play this game. Watch this show. Listen to people talk about mundane bullshit over the telephone. Is this how it's always going to be?
I keep imagining myself chopping wood. Lift the axe. Bring it down. Split the wood in half. Over and over and over again. The image in my mind soothes me, especially when I start getting frustrated. Lift. Aim. Smash. Lift. Aim. Smash. I don't know why I think of this image. I don't know why it's one of the only things that keeps me sane right now.
My parents good friend Tom B. passed away on Friday. He had a frontal lobe disease that was exacerbated by a fall he took from off his roof. He was like a vegetable the last year of his life. This is a blessing that he's passed on.
It's hard to lose someone you love, but even harder to spend your entire life taking care of that someone who is terminally ill. I know when Kent dies I'll feel lost and sad, but at the same time I'll feel a sense of relief. I won't have to worry anymore. The stress will dissipate. Those feelings will probably make me feel extremely guilty. I'll probably suffer from survivor's guilt on top of that. I guess only time will tell at this point.
If you haven't noticed, I think about death quite a bit. How can I not? I see so many people around me dying. The cancer center is a depressing place to be. I remember when I was first told that Kent's condition was incurable and that it was just a matter of time before he succumbed to the disease. It wasn't your normal everyday people comforting me out in the hallway. It was other cancer patients. It was people who didn't know if they were going to be alive in a year or not. Faced with your own mortality, does it make you stronger somehow?
Kent says you get to a point where you accept your fate. You've made amends with your past and you start to comfort those you know who are going to be left behind. You comfort them instead of yourself because once you've passed away, it's not you who is left to pick up the pieces. It's them.
Does it make this existence any easier accepting your fate like that? I don't know. I haven't come to terms with my own yet.