This post should be about the beauty of the first day of Lent. It should be about how my day began in the glory of a Mass so wonderful I felt home in veins for the first time in a over a year. Rather, it will be about the horror, gore, and frailty of the human life.
I wore my stepdads slippers outside tonight. I needed to feel some sort of male stability. Because today we decided that it is time for my Uncle Ian to die.
The decision is made. Tomorrow we say goodbye. I've shed my tears, and more are coming even now as I type. I feel melodramatic, like crying now is not what I should be doing, because a strong, providing, caring, woman, does not cry at times like these.
A month ago I was ready to let him die. But I looked death in the eye and said, "NO! we are ready for this fight, come what may!" We were not ready.
I feel that my whole body h as become one big heart. I cannot feel my hands, my feet, or any other limb of action. I feel only my heart. Every part of me longs for love. Every part of me is consumed by my fears, my hopes, my dreams... and most of all, my sorrows.
At his death I will write his great Eulogy. Until then, I will breathe smoke and cry pain. I know his death is looming. He does not. Life is fragile. This is not what is should be.