Unforgiving

I love this place, this page.  The least filtered output of my existence.  The low odds that anyone ever reads any of it, yet still the possibility, allowing me to feel as if I am getting something out--even if it's still all a big cheat, as no one knows me.  Well, one does, but they'll likely let me fade.

I really had hoped life would feel different after accomplishment, yet here I am in the same position so many others have found themselves in through the millennia.

I wonder how many have truly accepted death.  I saw the world torn down around a husband and very young dying wife last week, they didn't know at the time it was the last few minutes she'd ever be awake in this life.  I was the last person she talked to.  We spoke about ... boring things.  Nonsensical explanations of what could be happening and what was going to be done.  Then in a moment, just gone.  She had asked me in her tired voice where her family was and if she'd be able to see them again soon.  I've thought through everything a few hundred times now to find any error, but nothing.  Everything was done correct.  With urgency.  With accuracy.  An almost flawless execution considering the circumstances, and yet she lies between a 97 and 100 percent mortality.  If she is in the chosen few who survive, most have debilitating handicaps.  I remember walking out of the room.  The husband was kneeling, shaking, perhaps dying himself.  A state of emotional shock, at least.  As I got to the door, beside him, I placed my hand on his shoulder and looked down at him.  I spoke with the most heartfelt meaning I could muster and then saw myself out--an end of a night.

"Good luck"

I see it every day and yet I still feel as if I fall short of acceptance.  As if I am pretending to accept it, that perhaps I could cheat it somehow.  Pretentious, isn't it?  That I may be the only person in all of existence to escape inevitability.