Death Becomes Me

Today I sat with my Great Uncle in hospice. Without hesitation, I boarded a train with my cousin (his grandson), missed the premiere of a movie I am in, and made my way to Maryland to be with him on one of his final days. In my memory, I have never not done that. I have always found myself by the side of my dying elderly relatives. To me, it is part of my regular life. To be there for their transitions. I notice though, to others, the normalcy of it for me is out of the ordinary. 

How did this happen? 

I was raised in a nursing home by my mother who never hid death and the fragility of life from me. Death surrounds me. Not in a morbid way, no, but in the way that I have always been close to and connected to the elderly. 

I'm not going to claim to be a better person that others, but many believe that the best of humans are close to and caretakers for the elderly and babies. The two characters Jonas in “The Giver” speaks very highly of are his father, a nurturer for children;  and his friend Fiona, a caretaker for the elderly. Lois Lowry reminds us that these people are the best of our society. I am and always have been both a nurturer for children and a caretaker for the elderly. Again, I'm not claiming superiority, just acknowledging that these roles in life have prepared me to be empathetic in ways that the average person is not capable of. 

As I held my Great Uncle’s hand today, friends that were beginning to know of my reason for being in Maryland with him sent their prayers and reactions of shock. I felt…uncertain of how to respond to “are you okay?”, I hesitated to reply. “Of course I'm okay…death is inevitable and I have no regrets because I have made the decision to spend ample time with the elderly people in my life.”  Is what I wanted to say, but I didn't. Instead I said “thank you”. I often struggle to understand people's response to timely deaths of the elderly. I think about “The Giver”. About the “release” of elderly people in their world. I think that perhaps my peers need to think of it as “release” and not know that it means death. I often think that the freedom to understand death is perhaps too much for the average person. I wonder why it is not too much for me. 

It once was. 

When I was a child, I  prayed every night to die before my grandfather, for I thought  life without him was not worth living.  I feared his death, but not my own. This fear led to isolation. Fear of loss which made me unwilling to add to my list of loved ones. I feared loss. I still do. Though not as extremely as I once did. My grandfather died when I was 19. I took my own life. I was resuscitated. I tried again, I was resuscitated, so I resolved to live. I suppose his death was the band-aid being ripped off and my suicide was the infected wound festering because I wasn't ready for it to come off. Eventually though, the wound healed and I changed. I began to allow myself to be close to people…to friends. More close than before to some people. To Brittyn and Dani. Improvement I think. 

Today though, before our  visit to my Great Uncle/ his Grandfather, my cousin Topher said to me “Doesn’t that poor guy know? Iman doesn't let anyone in who doesn't work his ass off to prove he's worth it.” 

I was intrigued. It was intriguing to be perceived that way because I've worked so hard to attribute my emotional unavailability to what happened with Lord. I thought it was working. Of course it wouldn't on Topher who has known me his entire life. I suppose. I like to pretend to be a jaded, scorned lover, but really I am unwilling to accept another soul to transition. 

I am dedicated to transitioning souls.  Call me the river Styx. 🧸. I know death is coming for all I love. This knowledge informs my decisions. I have no regrets or tears to cry because I prioritize time with me elderly family members. I know how to cope with loss in that manner. What I don't know how to cope with is loss of a Lover. So I take making sure the person I spend my life with is the right one very seriously. I'm okay with him dying, but if he were to simply…stop loving me…I couldn't cope. 

I think death becomes me more.