Death Is My Constant Companion

by Sarah

Death is my constant companion.

It rides with me in the car and ponders if it will be the last one I own.

It sits quietly at breakfast with me.

It makes me start to measure time in new ways such as what will expire first, me or this bottle of Tylenol.

It makes me cry at times but not for very long and usually not enough to even work up a proper tear.

It shows me the stunning sunset and then the pop of the stars; the vastness and elegance of the universe and the minuscule part I get to play in it.

It helps me see the humor within and through the pain.

It forces me to accept help although not always graciously.

It hovers over me and waits for me to open my eyes every morning to greet my consciousness right away.

It helps me appreciate the resilience of the other folks in PT…the ones that look like they REALLY have something wrong with them.

It amplifies the beauty of my loved ones and their actions.

It goads me into taunting the gang of squirrels that run my yard. Yes, this is Death’s doing, too. Don’t question me!

It makes me wonder which will run out first, my life or my money.

It shows me the strength of those that are physically weak, that move slowly, painfully but keep going until that is no longer an option.

It pokes me with every limp.

It shows me that sometimes letting go is the best option, the only option.

It makes me appreciate the moments with less pain.

It shows me the value of a bike ride with an open sky and pleasant temps. Then it shows me the merit of a tumultuous sky, an impending storm which I race to shelter.

It makes me want to live more than I die, every day.

It helps me tolerate even less bullshit.

It helps me prioritize everything even when I don’t want to. Especially when I don’t want to.

It wears me out.

It forces me to think about legalities and who will take care of them when I’m gone.

It amplifies my concerns for my family.

It makes me think about giving my stuff away.

It encourages me to ponder what I can do other than simply survive for a while.

It makes me think about how I can be of value to others.

It helps me swear more. Probably at a greater volume, too.

It reinforces that all form is temporary.

It cranks the honesty to 11. Deafening and at times, painful.

It provides a freedom of words and actions that is unrivaled.

It spreads and permeates the waiting room at the cancer center. “Hospice, Line 1.”

It makes me want to kick the complainers in the teeth.

It tells me to get after the PT folks; that we need to amp this up, not just rid me of this limp but make me as strong as possible for as long as possible. Let’s GO.

It reinforces that no one knows how many days they’ll have.

It magnifies the ridiculousness of what we fret about and on what we spend our money.

It hides in the mailbox in the form of caring cards and medical bills.

It beckons my friends to mow my lawn since it has removed my ability.

It encourages some to check in on me.

It scares some away.

It makes me laugh out loud at the visibly uptight people in the grocery store.

It goes with me to parties.

It sits close while I laugh.

It snuggles in when the mood is light.

It never leaves me.

It never will.