Monday, February 4, 2013

new oblivion appocolypse

funny how you stop writing when you are in unhappy relationships...unrelated to the following note...

when you are living several years with a person who is dying, literally, not just growing old, you start to expect and rationalize that moment when things will change. how many hospital visits does it require before you are numb to the thought of death? how many years of walking that line before you no longer see the difference in the shade versus in the sun?

i have never been given a life sentence. my eta of transition has always been in the hands of an untold future. i have always felt it is a better choice, to not make those choices for myself or other people. For the past six years or so I have been living with my Grandmother, who I believe was only happily alive for two of those years. She has recently been transitioned into a skilled nursing center. Now, six months into that, she was denied her final surgery, a last hope to give her some retrieval of freedom. She was actually recommended for hospice care. So at last, something I have been bringing myself to face for years now is finally being confirmed.  At first, I didn't even believe the fus of every visit to the hospital. My Grandmother knew she was dying. She would have fits of panic over this. I don't believe she ever accepted the truth of her own mortality. All her efforts to have this surgery were just an attempt at bionic life, free from the pain she was experiencing, saved by science. But she is dying, and it is coming sooner. I can't help but hate the part of myself that delt with this years ago. The part of me that knows everyone's place is temporary. There is a part of me that wishes she could live forever, if only for her own content. But at some point, wouldn't she also be unhappy with that, as is her nature?

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