In less than two months it will have been 4 years since I first thought I might be actively dying for the second time in my life, and a few months less than that since I last wrote a post. One thing has remained the same, and three things changed in the interval:
- I am still alive, and annonymous.
- My mother is not.
- I am working less.
- I recieved a message through the contact form.
My lung condition has not progressed, in fact, it seems better, or about as good as I might expect at 61. I know that what I had was real because I felt it, I saw it, I couldn’t breathe well, so there are three possibilities, and I did write this in a post I believe, but either it was something that would have gotten better anyway, or it was a divine intervention. Being of a humble and sinful sort, I struggle with the doubt of God intervening so directly on my behalf although it strikes me that the struggle is more a reflecition of faith, which suggests that I have fallen further in that, now that I am doing better, I find less need. And I find that I am disappointed in myself. How pedestrian. How typical. How base.
My mother passed the August before last, so they are all angels now (Post “My angels…”). My sister and I were with her when she died. She received the Last Rites about an hour prior, and 30 minutes before, she held her arms up, silently but strongly for about five seconds, looking forward, not as us on either side of the bed, then relaxed and breathed shallowly, quietly, until she breathed her last. At the time, she was incredibly weak and not conscious. She reminded me of the Risen Christ pose on the picture of Jesus, with the calendar for 1953 on the back, hanging in my locker at work underneath the family picture. The calendar grandpa would give to his customers at the grocery store.
Last June, I cut back to 0.6 FTE so I could write more, and I am, but I’m still working plenty, about twice as hard in half the time, but the other half of the time is worth it so far.
The real reason for the post is a contact from a presumed reader. It looked like a legitimate email address, and I thought that somebody who was struggling with a recent diagnosis or fear of death or dying had stumbled upon my site, so I replied, and it seemed to be fake, or at least unable to respond; however, it came out of the blue, the first contact in the last 3-4 years anyway, and it prompted me to read many of my posts again. It is strange to read something you have written so long ago that it doesn’t sound like you anymore, like it was written by someone else, only it wasn’t. It is the ultimate critique–to read something you’ve written through the lens of distance. I remember writing all those posts in one setting with minimal editing and when I read them now, it is hard to imagine replicating that so maybe I was inspired. I’d like to think that.
Maybe it was someone trying to “out” the DyingMan, but, at this point, it doesn’t really matter. I am to old to be worried about what others may think of my self-pitying drama and histrionics. I believe that I am the product of one miracle for sure already, which I addressed in the last chapter of a self-help book I wrote a few years ago., and there have been two other instances, this being one, not quite as dramatic, but they had me convinced.
It was good for me to get back in that headspace I was in. It has refocused me. In fact, I think I shall read it annually, and I will keep the site up as long as I’m alive with the thought that some few in search of solance might find some measure of comfort in what I have written.