At first, he haunted me late at night as I would try and go to sleep. The notion that those I love, mostly my grandparents, would die bullied me until I fell asleep crying at times. Then in the 5th grade he made good on his threats and abducted my grandpa before my very eyes on Christmas morning. Before I was ushered to another room to pray he wouldn't leave me I watched my favorite person in the world succumb to death as his heart failed and he vomited on our front room floor while paramedics beat on his chest. While most kids were delighting in their christmas presents I was bargaining with death to bring my grandpa back.
Death has harassed me my entire life it would seem. Not long after that he came for my grandma. He had an uncanny ability to recognize who meant the most to me in life at any given moment seemed to take perverse pleasure in stealing them from me. Just as I was growing close to my grandma she died. What seemed like a small infliction turned fatal and she expired during the middle of the night at the hospital. I felt particularly provoked by death with her. I had been taking care of her, nursing her leg, until the night she went to the hospital and exhausted from the emotions of leaving her there I fought with my mother over something as trivial as dishes. She had to threaten me with not getting to go see grandma the next day if I didn't do dishes. Odd the way we interpret things when we are only 12. For the longest time I felt some responsibility for her demise. Convincing myself if I had just done those dishes like a good girl without complaint somehow she would be alive.
For a little while after that death found me hard to antagonize. If I didn't allow myself to care for anyone so deeply there would be no one for death to batter me with. So for the next 3 yrs I built a wall around myself in an effort to protect both myself and others. I think I may have even forgot about him for awhile. Until I was 15 and he decided to refresh my memory. I was a candy striper at the hospital passing out meal cards to patients when I walked into a room to find a man grey in the face and not breathing. I rushed out of the room and yelled for help. As I watched the nursing staff react and charge into the room all I could think of a his cold grey face and unmoving eyes. He died. I was unable to finish the last two weeks of my assignment, something I have always regretted. Allowing death to win and keep me from completing something I was very much enjoying.
After high school I became a CNA having realized how much I love working in the hospital and determined to not let death defeat me. At first, I had to do my time in nursing homes before I could work my way into the hospital program and the med/surg floor. It was in the nursing home that death was able to move beyond intangible tormentor. I was forced to touch it. Working in the nursing home and performing post-mortem on what seemed like a routine basis began to anesthetize me to him. I thought I had finally conquered my fear. Sometimes they say facing your fears is the very thing required to get over them.
Until I lost my first husband I thought I had overcome deaths crippling effect on me. Maybe I had become too confident about my lack of fear, but death proved once again that behind my convincing exterior hid that same terrified 6 yr old girl. Gawking at the face of death on a white rabbit in terror. Only this time death was determined to violate me in a way that I would never forget to be certain that I would never again consider him the weaker of us. He dragged my husbands death out until his body wasted away before my very eyes. He ate him bit by bit as I looked on unable to do anything but watch in horror. I realized then that death is never to be provoked or baited by ego.
Death still scares the shit out of me. After years of entanglement with him I've come to understand it is a part of life. So when do we realize mortality? When do we as humans learn of death? I was six when I met him, but it took much longer to meet his even more terrifying acquaintance; Life.
I realized at 29, Life is equally scary. Life, like death, is unapologetic for it's harsh realities. It makes no excuses or offers any false platitudes for it's cruel nature. It can be fair and just one minute and abusive and bias the next. Life makes no guarantees and can be more painful than death. Life even at the end can become so unbearable that death is welcomed. Most of my life has been spent in the company of death. As a result I have become somewhat more comfortable with him than Life. Yes, death still scares me, but what really terrifies me now is failing Life. Its taken me over 30 years to begin to achieve goals I had long ago set. What could likely be half my life already gone. When I evaluate my performance thus far it appears disorganized and unrealized. Frightening.
My life could be considered almost half over and I feel like I've wasted some of it being unproductive. Underachieving living in mediocrity. While others are well established by now I'm just beginning to build a future. A future I hope is longer and happier than my past. Uncertain of myself at times I live in the moment afraid to think too far ahead because I might fail to realize it. I'm not even sure where this is going. I just know I woke up at 630 with the words "my life with death" in my head and several of these thoughts racing around demanding to be written out.
I am choosing to work in a profession where Life and Death constantly collide. Is it because I'm some sick fool looking for answers? I don't know. Maybe it's just that witnessing others struggles with these two villains gives me a better understanding of my own and I don't feel so alone. That somehow giving of myself to others will leave less of me for Life and Death to badger. Or maybe I'll learn how to embrace them both someway and achieve peace. I'm hoping for the later even if it's the by-product of the former.
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