It's been four weeks since Yves died. As I write this, at about this time on that Saturday morning, his respirator was turned off and he slipped into death, surrounded by his family and friends. I was not there, as I had said my own goodbye to him earlier that morning.
In a way, what happened feels as if it was a lifetime ago. It's difficult for me to believe that it's been less than a month. The past four weeks have worked me over like a "work of art." Some days have had moments so painful, I have fantasized about ending my own pain in a permanent way. Other days have brought moments of such exquisite beauty and understanding of life that I have thanked Yves, again, for the gift of his presence in my life, brief as it was.
I have not been able to contemplate, with too much acumen, questions about the afterlife. This experience has not suddenly made me a Christian or a Buddhist or anything in particular. The only thing I can tell you with some certainty is that is has made me a more calm person. There is a whole realm of fear that has been lifted from me. I am no longer afraid of death. I have seen it. And while I am not ready to embrace my own death at this particular moment--there are still things I want to do, and I have two daughters to raise and watch grow up--when death comes, I hope that I will slip into it as peacefully and surrounded by as much love as Yves was. I think that's the best we can hope for. A peaceful, loving death.
2 comments:
As hard as it is to understand I celebrated for my father when he passed last year.
It was a release, for us, for him yes - but more it was a special day for him.
That question you alluded to, he has answered for him.
For us the living all there are are guesses or illusion, those who have passed know.
Death is the great mystery, the doorway beyond what is now or tomorrow.
Lord Byron's words
I wish I believed in some (thing, one) to pray to or at such that you might feel peace.
I do believe in your marvelous spirit.
Do on go on, Lorraine - I need you.
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