So Don't Think That I'm Pushing You Away

We don't often see dead bodies in the street anymore.

Our civilised, upstanding culture wouldn't allow for that. Instead, reminders of death come in the form of obituaries, tearful newspaper quotes, written reminisces of a person's life. Those who die from chronic illness live out short, tragic lives, beauty and sadness that envelopes our hearts in equal measure. And for just a moment, we are pulled out of our daydream, and we realize how precious the trickling grains of sand are for us.

Now I see why my mother keeps herself so close to the dead and dying. It's important to remember these things.

I am becoming conscious of the breaths I take, the beats of my heart. The fear grips my body, the terror of stopping, of prematurely finishing up the experience. I want to live. Please let me keep living. I am twenty-two, and ten years ago I was twelve years old. Both times, I was on the cusp of something new. Many times now have I changed my course to greener pastures, more lessons to learn and to recover from.

But at the same times, that realization, letting the fear constantly run through my body in my idle hours until I gasp from it... it has its benefits. There are times, like when I'm riding my bike, racing past traffic and challenging the rain above, racing home to a warm bed, a meal I'll be making, comfort and safety. I feel alive in those moments, and I let myself think consciously: I'm still young, and it's no longer a bad thing. I'm still here, and I may be for much longer. I still think and love and rejoice in myself, for the simple joy of being.

Terror grips me as I remember the dead. Yet it is with loving the hours inbetween that I break free from fear.