I spent some time this weekend with someone I love who is more likely to die than most of us. I come from a long line of people who have perfected what I call "selective self-awareness", hence, in my genes is the ability to block out certain unsettling truths. With that in mind, I think this particular 88 year old is doing pretty well, overall, and with some rest, may yet get back to some good months or years throwing around a quip and laughing at animatronic stuffed animals.
Now there's a short pause in my life, giving me time to wonder about all the people I've lost and am likely to keep losing. These wholes never do seem to fill up - like an aerated lawn that never fills in, I'm left pocked and hollow, aware of absence if not with the details.
We keep going, though, missing those pieces all the while. Is there something that truly keeps those people with us, besides sentiment? Do they live in the objects we keep that may be theirs, the phrases they trademarked as we use them, the tics and mannerisms and habits they passed on?
I don't know. I only know I'm grateful the person we were visiting is still there to visit, and I dread the day she isn't, even though, guiltily, I know I can survive her death. The ones I'm not sure I can survive will be my parents. Here's hoping it will be a long long time before I have to prove to myself such a thing is possible.
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