Write about a time when death was present.
For my Manda... 5 long months later.
Death is present today, as I hang up the phone and begin writing out a packing list. It's present as I mull over in my brain the catalog of facts and as I mindlessly wipe the tears streaming from my eyes. It's present as I think about how unfair the world is, how much my heart aches, or how hard this trip will be.
In a few days time, I'll find myself on a plane, traveling from the midwest to Orlando, Florida. I'll check into a hotel, where I'll spend most of my waking hour, but my heart won't be in my body. It'll be a short distance away, in the home of a close friend, as she settles into this new reality of hospice care. I'll spend maybe an hour or two each day with her if I'm lucky, but that's all her stamina will allow, and she'll apologize when she dozes off from exhaustion or when she cries out in pain.
Together, across the country, we've navigated this life of her Stage 4 Metastatic Breast Cancer for the last four and a half years. She's fought relentlessly, giving every option careful consideration, weighing every pro and con, trying new treatment options time and time again after each one failed. We've wept together on the phone, we've sent hundreds of texts back and forth, often my asking simply if we still had time.
I needed to know when time was running out.
When death was waiting on the doorstep.
When to book this very specific plane ticket.
I needed to know when I had to go to say goodbye.
Death is present in every moment of this trip as we do just that. And death has been present every moment since I've returned home, waiting for the phone call that she's gone.
In the interim, death is present in every text message and in every update from her sister. Death is very clearly standing down the block, making its way towards her door, getting ready to barge in with no warning and take the very soul that is so precious to us.
If only we could ask death to leave alone.