I am sitting here thinking about death.  Not far from here, my husband’s aunt Fran is dying.  She has been struggling with cancer for years now, it started in her ovaires, and we just found out today that it’s in her brain.  She has a week, maybe three if she is “lucky”.  I use sarcastic quotes, because the woman is in and out of consciousness and even when she is awake she is not lucid.  She is doped up on morphine for the pain.  I think she would be luckier if it went quickly.  Luckier for her, not necessarily for us.

I was thinking about Fran in my car at work today.  I was thinking about Fran and Morrighan.  (Morrighan is my daughter.)  I was thinking about how much fun they had together.  Fran is not an old woman, she is only 49.  She never had children of her own.  Morrighan and Fran had great times together.  Thinking about it makes me happy.  It also makes me sad.  Fran will never see the woman that Morrighan is to become.   She will never see, Morrighan’s first dance recital.  No one (not even I) would have cheered louder.  I also think of how much Morrighan will be missing.  

All of this brings to mind the other people whom Morrighan will never know or remember.  My step-father died of cancer when I was 12.  He had only been in our lives for four years, two of which he was sick for.  I can’t help but relate Fran and Philip (that was his name).  For me most of the memories of him have grown foggy with time.  It was a long time ago.  He died more than half my lifetime ago.  But I do remember him.  I know that he loved me. and he would have adored Morrighan.  My mother always says he would have been stopping people in the street to tell them about her.

You know, I think of myself as a “sensitive” person.  By sensitive, I mean, I usually know how a person is feeling and at times, I can even tell you what s/he is thinking.  On occasion, I have known what was going to happen to a person.  However, even with all of this, I still don’t know when someone near me is going to die.  Most of the time, I don’t even suspect.  I have wondered why this is.  I didn’t know with Philip, or with my grandfather who died a few months after Philip, I didn’t know with My Grandmother, who died 7 years almost to the day after her husband.  I didn’t know with my cousin.  I didn’t know with Fran.  I honestly thought they were all going to get better. 

There were signs with all of them.  I should have known.  So why didn’t I?  Is it because I couldn’t be objective?  I don’t think so.  I think that it is because I was too close.  I think that the slow death of a loved one drapes around everyone close to them.  I think I couldn’t see it, because I was dying too.  At funerals, people are always talking about how your loved ones will live on in you.  As long as you remember them and love them.  What they don’t tell you is that a piece of you dies with them.  Their memories of you and their love for you are gone.  So is a piece of your heart.  Nobody talks about this.  It’s not comforting.  It’s not hopeful.  It’s not optimistic.  But it’s true.

I also think that I didn’t want to know.  I didn’t want to see the writing on the wall.  I wanted to think it was for someone else to read.  I remember, a month before Philip died, my best friend in the whole world died.  My dog, Dylan.  He was 17.  He had ALWAYS been in my life.  He was my older brother.  He had to be put to sleep.  It was exactly a month, to the day, before Philip died.  Still, I didn’t want to see that Philip was dying.  I didn’t really look at him, because I didn’t want to see what was in his eyes, on his face.  I look at pictures taken of him then, and it is all there.  The future for those who chose to see it.

These things may not seem connected to you, but for me they are indelibly connected.  Dylan was the first real death of my life.  I had had gerbils and things die.  I loved the gerbils but they weren’t my friends.  Not like Dylan.  His death was very hard for me.  I am still not completely over it.  I don’t think I ever will be over any of them.  When Philip died.  I learned that not only could pets die, people could die too.  That scared me.  I was young then, but it still scares me now.  Two very hard lessons to learn all at once.

They say that time heals all wounds.  That’s not true, exactly.  The pain never goes away.  I just learn to live with it.  Then there comes a day when I notice that there are pieces of me missing.  It usually comes around birthdays, anniversaries, driving in my car or when I lose another piece of my heart.
The Writing on the Wall