I saw someone die yesterday.
I had never seen someone die before. It isn’t dignified or graceful. Or peaceful. Even when it is sudden and over in a split
second like it was for P-- we, the
living, make it graphic and ugly and violent as we fight to hold on, to wrench
that person back into our world. I don’t
know if the images will fade for me, seeing her naked and vulnerable while a
machine of men and devices wrestled with her unresponsive body. I don’t even know how I feel now, a day
later. I thought I was fine. I got up, got dressed, got on the bus to go
to an appointment and do some pre-vacation shopping.
Then I realized I was
wearing two different shoes and was on the wrong bus.
I bought a $50 candle.
I don’t know why. I guess because
I could? I am burning it now while I
write this and drink red wine.
I got caught in a massive thunderstorm so I came home and
took a hot shower. And, that is when it
struck me. Did she know? Had she done everything she wanted to
do? Or was she waiting for that perfect
moment, when she was thin enough or had enough money or felt strong enough? Did she miss out anything for a reason as
stupid and pointless as those?
I like to think she didn’t.
As little as I knew her, I knew she was nothing if not true to
herself. She would only drink tea from a
china cup. And, she always had quirky
and individual outfits and accessories – always sparkly, or with feathers, and
little butterfly hair clips or a jaunty hat. She was that person who would turn
up with a kind word or little gift just when you needed a pick up. She was an avid flamenco dancer and was,
apparently, a wiz on the castanets. No,
I don’t think she let life get away from her.
But, was I?
If that were me, lying on the floor, drained of all that is
me, would I be satisfied? Or, was I saving
something or holding something back for the right time?
There are certainly things I knew I wanted to do in this
life.
I had loved with everything I had.
I had been crippled by heartbreak.
I had traveled the world, meeting people, learning, taking
photographs and memories with me.
I had run a 10K.
I had gotten a tattoo in San Diego when I turned 25 and pierced my
belly button in Spain when I turned 30.
I had changed careers and pursued and accomplished all my
professional dreams.
I’d been to festivals and 5 star restaurants, camped in the
Serengeti and ridden a camel in the Sahara.
I’d been a loyal and honest friend, daughter and sister.
I had said I love you when I felt it. And, only then.
But, I hadn’t changed the world or made a difference. I hadn’t had children. I had never gotten
married. I had never been able to live within my means. I had expensive lingerie in my dresser drawer
that was waiting for the right guy, tags still on. I had clothes in my closet that were
impossibly too small. I hadn’t become a
teacher. I’d never become fluent in a
foreign language.
I had stopped writing.
OK, maybe I won’t do all those things. And, maybe I will have some regrets. But, the one thing I won’t have to regret is
not thinking about this now. Not living
my life every day as if it were my last.
Because someday it will be.
Today, I will write.
And, maybe tomorrow, I will settle on a foreign language and
sign up for a class. Or clear out my
closet. Or wear something silky and lacy
for me only.
I will be grateful
for the day. As I am of today.
Thank you P—for that.
