A Lesson in Dying

Photo by David Ettlin

What could I have done when there was nothing that I could do but wait?

I gasp for air through my tears. A tsunami of grief has plunged deep into my chest pushing away all in its path, leaving a hallow in its wake. She told me that she was not afraid of dying because she would be gone.  She was afraid for me and the others, the ones left behind, because we would suffer the emptiness, the missing of her. She craved peace and release from the piercing wretchedness that overwhelmed her when medications failed.  She just wanted to go to sleep and not wake up.  This morning her wish was granted. She's gone.

I grieve for her and, selfishly for myself, for I have lost part of who I am.  She shared with me so generously her spirit, her friendship, her art, and her unequivocal joy at being alive.  Because of these gifts, I comprehend my world and live differently. Through her photography I see immeasurable beauty. Through her writing, I see how words dance across the written page to create poetry. Through her theatre work, I hear stories she was unafraid to tell.   Her ability to open her life to others unashamedly, risking rejection to create and explore with bottomless curiosity was rare. Her laughter lifted my spirits when they most needed lifting. Her judgements and observations were never criticisms, but heartfelt offerings I openly embraced. 

Right now, I am numb and I live in black and white despite the sunshine at my window. Nothing but what has happened to her today matters. I wait for a torrent of disarray, anguish, and even anger to overwhelm me.  I will battle through it.  But I will never be bitter over losing her. She wouldn't want it that way.