Thursday, July 30, 2009

big stupid questions.

Given that this is the end of July and I haven't written anything besides a death anouncement, I thought I would try to put my overwhleming amount of thoughts surrounding the topic of death to words. It may not work as too much has occured in our little family in the past month to put words to it all. And, of course, even though it doesn't have to do directly with my blog: that being living with "terminal illness", the month's activities mostly involve death.

I'm struggling with the meaning of life at this time. This sudden death completely and totally screwed with any meaning that I was becoming comfortable with. Of course, any sudden death of a close loved-one will do that. I have never really had anyone very close to me die. Well, I have but I lost all of my granparents, and yes I was close to 2 of them, but at that age, you kind of expect it. Death of a close grandparent, although hard, makes a bit of sense. The older ones go, after having lived a full (or full enough) life. But to loose someone so young makes absolutely no sense to me. None whatsoever.

This is what's screwing with my sense of order of the universe. It's also making me both feel more blessed that I know about my time limit, and simultaneously very angry that my Wife was given such terrible fate. It's not even the "short end of the stick" she's gettinsg. With her sister having died on her 14th birthday (so her own brithday is now a Yartzeit), her son now stolen and then me, it's a stick covered in mold, maggots and shit, that she's been given. And yet, at this moment anyway (I think she's still a bit numb from all the drama-trauma) she doesn't think so. Somehow she hasn't lost her faith - in fact I think it's getting a bit stronger: not a religious kind of faith, but whatever it is that she believes in is quietly brewing. I hope it is that that's carrying her through this because me, I am angry, angry at the audacity of G-d (or whomever) to have ripped Thomas from her, and angry that what I thought I believed in is not what I thought (or is it). What if I was wrong about my theories of life? What if I have no clue what I'm doing here right now? His death is making NO sense. I keep hoping that there will be something that comes of the autopsy - something to hold on to that at least gives meaning to "why" he was stolen. I keep hoping that maybe he himself will tell us what G-d had intended. Without getting all paranormal I will say this: I believe that spirit as a highest manifestation of soul, has the ability to communicate without the ego/personality's physical language. For example, when Thomas was still alive in that hospital bed, although he couldn't communicate on the physical level (he was brain dead) because there was no personality/ego state left, I believe that his appearances in countless family members' dreams (and my own too) was the spirit-self level trying to communicate with the ego/physical beings. Having said that, I think it will be awhile before his spirit-self learns why he was taken. About 48-55 hours before he finally left this earth completely (his physical self was the last to go) he came to me (in what my ego-self calls a dream) all confused not understanding what was going on. I was shocked that I had to tell him that 'he' was dying. (Seems like the personality/ego self-> the being that's grounded in earthly affairs, doesn't always communicate with the higher self). (The cutie also appeared in an other's dream (a nurse-friend of the family that worked there) thanking them for the morphine and other 'good drugs'). G-d he was on a lot of them, and without them he would have been in such deep intense pain (irregardless of what we believe a body knows/feels when they are in Persistent Vegetative State: PVS). When they wore off before he was aloud his next round he would seize up so often and so badly that his face actually resembled a person in pain.

Anyway, having said that, I also admit that I don't believe in angels or ghosts (mind you I do spirits, so figure that one out). I so want to know why he was stolen - and it's just that: he was "stolen" from us. I hope I find out before I have to see him "on the other side". That was a hard day when I realized I would see him much sooner than many of the folks in the room (including his birth-mom, kinahora). There were a lot of hard days and I'm sure still to come. Life won't be the same. I can't go into our basement room, the room we left up for him when (some say if, I say when) he chose to come to college in Ottawa. He knew there was space for him. At least he knew he was still wanted, loved.

I have no meanings right now except this: if you're the stoic type that can't say "I love you" to those you love, get over it, because there will come a time when you can't say it anymore. Death is a "when" not an "if".

Saturday, July 18, 2009

back home

I still can't stop shaking my head. In dealing with my own impending death, we were not, I repeat, NOT supposed to have to have another death so close to us (and so young).

We've been back home all of 2 days (not even) and after the flurry and joy of being back on safe ground (there was nothing safe about the turmoil in Vancouver- and it's all too fresh to write about right now) reality is starting to settle in. Yesterday we spent some time in the garden, looked at all that's grown in the month we've been away: so much growth admist all this dying - long, prolonged, painful death.

Now it's quiet, we are tired, still not over the jet lag - as far as we're concerned it could be noon and we need a nap. I started unpacking the luggage of his things and the only thing I could think of was this: why did G-d make him, just to take him away at 17? I mean no disrespect or insincerity, but I suppose now that the actual observation of slow starvation and dehydration to death is over, now that the death has occured, now that we are out of that toxic dynamic called "his relatives", the questions come pouring in. Appropriately so it is raining, a heavy West Coast kind of rain - it's the kind of rain that is usually cleansing for the soul - a rain that could wash away troubles, clear the mind. This rain only reminds us of the copious drops (of tears) that are still to come. I know the next few days, weeks, months will see hundreds of questions go unanswered.

I feel a little stupid wanting to continue to write about my own process in dealing with my shortened life. But I also feel very blessed to know, in my gut that I'm on borrowed time. As we all are, but most people forget that, want to mask their mortality, even negate it. Sometime between now and then I will come to terms with my wife's loss, and my own - and sometime between now and then I will be able to write again, about death, without it being every breath I take, because that is all I breathed for three long weeks.