I am not dying. Not today. I ride a bike to the store, meet my friends for happy hour and hike for miles. I do struggle to manage treatment side-effects, but overall my current health is stable.
Dying is a verb, an active process that is observable. Dying is the body shutting down, closing shop, calling it a day. My image of dying is hospice, bed in the living room, family gathered. I have a calm certainty about "dying" because it is a reliable, natural human process. The body knows when and how to shut down, pain can be managed, and I have friends and family who will lovingly usher my transition. This is a precious certainty that I am thankful for.
What is difficult and highly uncertain is terminal illness, i.e. living on the edge of dying. In a loose sense we are all terminal. In my case terminal illness has brought the "dying" undeniably into focus. Terminal illness is an asymmetrical balance point that tips and wobbles every day, pulling further and further away from the old normal. It is difficult not to become overly vigilant of each symptom and change, pondering..."is this it?"
So quickly I lost my old normal and became my illness.
I think there is a better use for this "waiting on death" time. I'd like to use terminal illness as my "board of nails" helping keep me awake to each moment. If I can live 10 more years, this is how I want to move forward. My life has slowed considerably, which is a great gift. I am luckier than before because now I have time to relish each person, conversation, event, and act of kindness. I now have time for gratitude, to literally hold each person in my mind and heart and thank them.
Now there is so much more to be grateful for; losing control has been good for me.
Dying is a verb, an active process that is observable. Dying is the body shutting down, closing shop, calling it a day. My image of dying is hospice, bed in the living room, family gathered. I have a calm certainty about "dying" because it is a reliable, natural human process. The body knows when and how to shut down, pain can be managed, and I have friends and family who will lovingly usher my transition. This is a precious certainty that I am thankful for.
What is difficult and highly uncertain is terminal illness, i.e. living on the edge of dying. In a loose sense we are all terminal. In my case terminal illness has brought the "dying" undeniably into focus. Terminal illness is an asymmetrical balance point that tips and wobbles every day, pulling further and further away from the old normal. It is difficult not to become overly vigilant of each symptom and change, pondering..."is this it?"
So quickly I lost my old normal and became my illness.
I think there is a better use for this "waiting on death" time. I'd like to use terminal illness as my "board of nails" helping keep me awake to each moment. If I can live 10 more years, this is how I want to move forward. My life has slowed considerably, which is a great gift. I am luckier than before because now I have time to relish each person, conversation, event, and act of kindness. I now have time for gratitude, to literally hold each person in my mind and heart and thank them.
Now there is so much more to be grateful for; losing control has been good for me.