Not the last day

I took today off from work at Hudson's, thinking that this might be the day, but in truth my motivations were more self-centered, for even though I expected to spend more time with Lynda with the whole day free, I actually could bear no more than my usual hour or so, and then I retreated to the comfort of chores and buried my thoughts with choices about tires and traffic. The mundanities of life are strangely appealing when faced with the alternative. In my case, my best efforts to stay focused on Lynda and ease her burdens here at the last have, it would seem, already come and gone.

Today, when I entered the room, there was no recognition, no awareness of my presence In the face of this reality, I can stand only so long before I have to step back and seek ground in the details lest I be dashed to it with unrelenting force. I am safer here in the low altitudes for now; soaring is just tempting the release of the flood of emotion that needs still to be contained.

So, curiously, even after writing about how the feelings are pent up, the writing of this diary has allowed so much to be released that I do not now fear the end for my own sake. There was a time when I was nervous about my reaction to Lynda's final breath, yet now I know that the reaction will not only be natural, but it will also be no more or less than I make it.

Now that is a hackenyed phrase, yet I use it with utmost innocence. I cannot expect to be surprised by Lynda's death, so the moment will not rush upon me like a wave, nor will it simply leak out over time by virtue of the spilling of a few words because as much as I prepare by writing, they are, after all, mere words. No, my emotions and feelings will come as combination of the two. It will doubtless be a slow release of an absolutely ripping torrent and it will be mu choice what to make of it. Part of me wants to wail; the other says, hey man, it's just a phase.

That's it then. Death is a contradiction of terms. Although it is the very essence of human emotion and thus fraught with hypocrisy, it is yet, by virtue of its innate inexorability, bound to the unvarnished truth. To put it another way, watching Lynda die has been a tug-of-war between my heart and my head, and simply knowing that it has to be this way doesn't make it any easier.