It hit me suddenly today – I’ll be fifty-eight in two days. Will I live to see my next birthday? There is a good chance that I will not. The odds that I’ll reach the age of sixty are minuscule.
I’m crying while I write this. I’m not ready to die yet. I wrote about it in my recent post Saying Goodbye Without Leaving:
The thing is, I am not ready to die. I love being alive, even with all the restrictions that are now my lot. I don’t know how to deal with this and it often makes me cry.
I don’t like that I am going to die, and I am not ready to die, but I know that I am going to die. I can only hope and pray that as my death approaches and becomes more immediate (unmediated by time) that I will be able to live each day with faith and courage, grace and humor to the last.
I want to write, don’t know what to write. The last couple of days, I’ve been sort of frantically active, within my limitations. This is a warning sign for me, a cue that I am avoiding difficult emotions. Wisely or unwisely, I looked within and saw…
I’m not sure what I saw. Not darkness – my fundamental happiness has not departed. Not despair – my God will not desert me. Not loneliness – I am fortunate in being surrounded by loving friends. So what is it?
Regrets? No, the only thing I regret in life is an unhealed relationship with a family member. I know that I’ve done all I can in that regard, so I quietly leave it in the hands of my relative and God. As I wrote a couple of weeks ago in Bucket List, I’ve had a good life.
I’m beginning to ask myself how much of this sadness is a control issue. I am a controlling person. I pay attention to detail and like to have my hand on everything going. As I get closer to death, my body compels me to start letting go of more and more. For example, my home isn’t as clean as I’d like (even though the Young Man Who Helps does very good work). I used to be very house proud; it’s hard to let go of this.
My house is just a symbol, of course. It’s not the grubby back door handle that is bothering me. It’s the letting go, letting go, the continuous letting go of life.
I’m not ready yet. How do you get ready to die when life is so good?