Grim

Today it felt like Death took a seat beside me in my car and wanted to show me some of his works in progress. Completely neutral and without passion, his manner was correct, businesslike, and matter-of-fact.

First was my visit to the woman with ALS. She sat nearly 24 hours a day in her power wheelchair, too afraid to lie down for fear of not being able to breathe. Her speech had been reduced to a steady gurgle and was completely incomprehensible. She was however thoroughly lucid, and with the little movement that remained in her left hand she could every now and then type a short phrase into her small computer. The entire house seemed to lack oxygen, as though her condition of gradual suffocation infected the air around her. The finality of her situation was tangible yet no one spoke of the inevitable, only what we were going to try to do to "make things better".

At lunch I read the main article in the local paper about a newly released book called "Life can't wait", which told stories about a number of young women battling (and losing) against cancer. The pictures, which were so tender and beautiful, depicted these brave women with their children, parents, and spouses, and had me in tears over my cheeseburger.

From there I began my drive homeward and decided to stop by my friend on the way home for a cup of coffee, this being my friend with cancer. I was as always welcome to visit, but this time he mentioned beforehand that he had been feeling poorly and would be needing to rest later on. In his doorway we hugged hello. I noticed his protruding cheekbones and that he had lost even more weight, but there was no point in pointing out the obvious. No point in telling him about my previous visit either.

We chatted, drank coffee, and switched from small talk to a brief recap of how his treatment was going. I found out that he hadn't even begun the actual chemo-treatment; at this stage he was still receiving antibodies, which are supposed to help him handle chemo, but even the antibodies were wreaking havoc on him. Or was it the cancer fighting back?

Nevertheless, my thoughts about Death stuck with me throughout the day. Even walking to pick up my children I passed the cemetery which was at the same time simply beautiful with its fountain, flowers, and newly cut grass. While I am not afraid of the thought of being dead, whether it be me or someone I know, it's the process that I find unnerving: the passage and the loss combined with inconsolable sorrow for those who remain.