Death Circling

 

It feels like death has been circling me.

Not in one moment. Not in one event.

Just… around.

—

My mother.

Gone.

—

As of late, there have been deaths in my house. I’m sure some were outdoor pets. But they were still lives. They were still present. And now they’re not.

They are still missed.

The mangy stray cat I was trying to save.
Even the stray.

Gone.

—

And then there was me.

Three weeks ago, I believe I almost died. I didn’t. But that night didn’t leave me the same.

Something opened.

I reached into parts of myself I hadn’t gone into before. Not my thoughts. Not just emotion. Something deeper.

I faced things I hadn’t confronted.

I forgave things I didn’t even realize I was still holding on to.

And I accepted something I hadn’t fully accepted before.

My own death.

Not in theory. Not as an idea.

But as something real.

Something possible.

Something that could happen.

And in doing that, I also accepted others.

Including my mother’s.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

It does.

This pain hurts.

—

I’m trying to recuperate right now.

I’ve been doing what I can to get myself healthier. It’s a slow process.

I’ve felt weak for a while.

The bulk of the symptoms have subsided, and I’m grateful for that.

But some things are still lingering.

The fatigue.
The weakness.

They’re still there… but getting better.

And the blurry vision.

It’s improving.

I can actually see a little better up close now. I’m able to read letters on my phone again. Up until today, I’ve been using reading glasses just to get by.

Life is fragile.

Our bodies are fragile.

And death just feels close.

—

I think about memento mori.

Remember you die.

A reminder to live… because you die.

I don’t always know how to take that.

Sometimes I don’t even know what to pray for.

Do I pray to leave?

Or do I pray to hold on?

—

I know what I believe.

We’re supposed to hold on.

We’re supposed to value our health, our bodies, our time here.

Because it’s a privilege.

Our bodies are a privilege.

—

But that doesn’t make me less human.

It doesn’t mean I don’t want to go sometimes.

It doesn’t mean I don’t hurt.

I miss my mom.

I just want her here.

—

I’ve been lying in the park for four hours.

Just… there.

I unfolded a blanket, and there was a silver hair of hers still on it.

I kept it.

But it’s not her.

And I know that.

Teary-eyed now.

Missing my mom.

I hate this.

I hate having to be strong.

I am human.

I’m not perfect.

—

Everything feels darker now.

This world… it’s not the same.

It feels empty.

Gray.

No… I’m not happy.

But I’m still here.

And sometimes…

that just sucks.

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