That’s how the wall between this world and the next feels to me; paper thin. Tracing paper thin – you can see shadows if you look hard enough. Or sometimes, even if you don’t look. How is it that I didn’t realise that before now? I suppose, “Because you’ve been lucky” is the obvious answer, and I know there is so much truth in that. I reached 50 years of age – almost – before realising just how fragile everything is. And now, sometimes, I wonder if I’m imagining my life, and that my whole existence just an illusion; that I don’t really exist and that “life” is not what we think.
So, there was the “before” and now the “after”….but the 3 weeks in between were like a beautiful dream where reality is not quite what it seems. Those 3 weeks are both my most treasured time and my most hateful. My emotions were so very sharp, I was always poised, ready to react to what was going on. I’m not sure if it would have helped if I’d felt 100% fit myself before I was thrown into that drama… I think not. I think my own illness prepared me, instead of facing it from the perspective of full health. Strange… Mum KNEW… Just a week or two before everything caved in, she said she was so glad I’d had a good holiday, “because it will help you face what you’ve got to face in the weeks ahead”. How could she know? I’d spoken with her doctor, and Dad’s… No-one knew what was about to happen.
Since then, two years ago, my mind hasn’t once been fully occupied by anything else. The maximum available “mind space”, to focus on other things, is (I’d guess) 80%… The other 20% – often more – is still re-living what happened, going over every detail in a constant loop, which I just can’t stop. Not always chronological, and sometimes other, related thoughts push their way in, but it’s always there in some form or another. Not just the events but the things it has prompted me to consider. This life of ours and its meaning… The transience. The fragility. I am terrified of the future and ashamed of my fear. My mother would be so devastated to know that is how I feel. She was a strong, strong woman. I used to hate it when people said “You look like your mother”, but now I wish it were true; she was beautiful… More than that, though, I’d like people to say I am like my mother in other ways…but I know I am not. She was the strongest, kindest person I’ve ever known. She had dignity, faith and compassion. If I could be 10% the person she was, I’d consider my life a success. As it is, it just feels like an empty, failed life.
Life is a lot more fragile than we think. So you should treat others in a way that leaves no regrets. Fairly, and if possible, sincerely.
― Haruki Murakami, Dance Dance Dance