Since I put Sophie on DNR three years ago, I have thought a lot about death. I consult with the most wonderful palliative care team who are THE most supportive, caring, understanding people I have ever in my lifetime met. My gal is slowly slipping into pain. She is now on gabapentin which is having some success at keeping her comfortable, that and being outside most of her days. But it was the neurosurgeon, back in 2020, a very experienced specialist and even more experienced human being who, when presented with Sophie's symptoms said, "You know what this means, don't you? Yes, you know." But...we are here still and I have wanted her to die, I have feared her dying, I have feared my own dying, dying with her, before her, after her...all the deaths. But the hardest are the emotional ones. The slow killing off of feeling so that you can carry on with it: the nurse called it "your clinical self". Now, I have surrendered to the whole thing. I'm here 'til I'm not, or she's not, or the world is not. I love the trees, the ocean, the sun, the moon and the stars and watch them in awe.
Whenever I come here, I am sorely tempted to call you. Just to say, yes, yes, yes. I talk about death and to death almost daily. People tell me I'm morbid. I don't think it's morbid, just real. Dear Sophie, Dear Carl, Dear your boys, and dear you. Since my chaplaincy studies ended, I've been writing. Daily. Hourly. There is so much to say. I think of you, caring for your girl, putting your fingers to the keys, telling us your truth, the truth. Thank you. Bless you.
I often think about death, Katie's and my own. I also have spent years working with dying people, no surprise that it's always on my mind. The first time I thought about my own death, I was twenty-one, in the hospital with an infected episiotomy and very sick. My five day old son was with family and I realized I was mortal and that another human was depending on me.
And Katie, I hope she dies before me. I have no desire for her to be in this world without me, her voice. It might sound selfish, but it's the truth. That being said, Miss Katie is healthy and will no doubt outlive me, although I wonder how she will fare with menopause and arthritis.
How can you not think about death? Every infection scars Sophie's lungs, increasing her risk of another infection. Death is a normal part of life. We hide from it in the West, but it finds us all.
Sending hugs and love Elizabeth. I think of you often, and Sophie.
I think paul went back to prison for killing his girlfriend...not sure though...i remember you then...i miss those times..we had so much fun trying to escape everything..lol..i love you sweet angel...i remember you with that band around your finger
I too am often taking a riff on the last few years as in my mind they twine with the past and I love reading you as you do that too. The love and the loss and yes providing and receiving sustenance.
Complicated questions. But you answer the for yourself incandescently. That’s a wonderful photo of 26 year old you. The finger bandage makes it even more so. A metaphor. I’m glad Sophie is home and grateful for the boys and Carl in your life. I too have been thinking a lot about death. I appreciate your observation that contemplating a thing doesn’t make it so. Love to you all.
I don’t know how people go around not thinking about death. There is so much at stake, every day. Last week I was thinking about cicadas and how intricate and choreographed their little lives are, but then once above ground - so brief! And immediately my brain/heart/gut said - like you! Like us! Like our own strange little bodies who just want to find a mate and sing our song.
Glad Sophie is home. Thank you for your stories and words.
I think about death ... all the time. Not morbidly, but ... hm, what comes to mind is the three brothers story in the final Harry Potter book, the one who asked for Death's cloak of invisibility, and when it came time to die he took it off and welcomed Death as a friend and they walked together.
I don't know if that's morbid to other people. But I've known too many people go through too much sudden, traumatic, unexpected loss to even want to pretend it's not there. I'd rather keep my peace with it.
That's a fantastic picture. There's so much of you in Henry, in particular. My approach to life, relationships, everything really, is to simply move ahead, assuming that all is well unless I'm told it's not. There's a sort of blinkered quality to this kind of thinking, but I suppose we're all in denial to some degree. I realize your life with Sophie brings these existential questions to the fore. I am glad she's out of the hospital -- I'm sorry that I hadn't even realized she'd been in again.
Where was I? There w/you, for a brief overlap anyway, at the Slice of Life (keeping my eye on Paul). Who was I? Naive, newly married, pockets full of cash/coins from waitressing, backpack full of philosophy/theology books (basically Thanatos) that still mystify me. Miss you (and Luke) and love this pic
Since I put Sophie on DNR three years ago, I have thought a lot about death. I consult with the most wonderful palliative care team who are THE most supportive, caring, understanding people I have ever in my lifetime met. My gal is slowly slipping into pain. She is now on gabapentin which is having some success at keeping her comfortable, that and being outside most of her days. But it was the neurosurgeon, back in 2020, a very experienced specialist and even more experienced human being who, when presented with Sophie's symptoms said, "You know what this means, don't you? Yes, you know." But...we are here still and I have wanted her to die, I have feared her dying, I have feared my own dying, dying with her, before her, after her...all the deaths. But the hardest are the emotional ones. The slow killing off of feeling so that you can carry on with it: the nurse called it "your clinical self". Now, I have surrendered to the whole thing. I'm here 'til I'm not, or she's not, or the world is not. I love the trees, the ocean, the sun, the moon and the stars and watch them in awe.
Yes to all of this.
Dearest Elizabeth-
Whenever I come here, I am sorely tempted to call you. Just to say, yes, yes, yes. I talk about death and to death almost daily. People tell me I'm morbid. I don't think it's morbid, just real. Dear Sophie, Dear Carl, Dear your boys, and dear you. Since my chaplaincy studies ended, I've been writing. Daily. Hourly. There is so much to say. I think of you, caring for your girl, putting your fingers to the keys, telling us your truth, the truth. Thank you. Bless you.
I often think about death, Katie's and my own. I also have spent years working with dying people, no surprise that it's always on my mind. The first time I thought about my own death, I was twenty-one, in the hospital with an infected episiotomy and very sick. My five day old son was with family and I realized I was mortal and that another human was depending on me.
And Katie, I hope she dies before me. I have no desire for her to be in this world without me, her voice. It might sound selfish, but it's the truth. That being said, Miss Katie is healthy and will no doubt outlive me, although I wonder how she will fare with menopause and arthritis.
How can you not think about death? Every infection scars Sophie's lungs, increasing her risk of another infection. Death is a normal part of life. We hide from it in the West, but it finds us all.
Sending hugs and love Elizabeth. I think of you often, and Sophie.
What a beauty! That picture is priceless. Your writing, as always, is so true and so golden.
I think paul went back to prison for killing his girlfriend...not sure though...i remember you then...i miss those times..we had so much fun trying to escape everything..lol..i love you sweet angel...i remember you with that band around your finger
He did! He killed the girlfriend when released! Weird weird weird. Hae Yung. We sure did have fun.
I too am often taking a riff on the last few years as in my mind they twine with the past and I love reading you as you do that too. The love and the loss and yes providing and receiving sustenance.
Complicated questions. But you answer the for yourself incandescently. That’s a wonderful photo of 26 year old you. The finger bandage makes it even more so. A metaphor. I’m glad Sophie is home and grateful for the boys and Carl in your life. I too have been thinking a lot about death. I appreciate your observation that contemplating a thing doesn’t make it so. Love to you all.
I don’t know how people go around not thinking about death. There is so much at stake, every day. Last week I was thinking about cicadas and how intricate and choreographed their little lives are, but then once above ground - so brief! And immediately my brain/heart/gut said - like you! Like us! Like our own strange little bodies who just want to find a mate and sing our song.
Glad Sophie is home. Thank you for your stories and words.
Always thinking about the what if’s… with and without Logan, myself, or my husband. Death, Life, Hope, Despair. Then I mindfully breathe.
I think about death ... all the time. Not morbidly, but ... hm, what comes to mind is the three brothers story in the final Harry Potter book, the one who asked for Death's cloak of invisibility, and when it came time to die he took it off and welcomed Death as a friend and they walked together.
I don't know if that's morbid to other people. But I've known too many people go through too much sudden, traumatic, unexpected loss to even want to pretend it's not there. I'd rather keep my peace with it.
Love that photo of you, just so stunning!
That's a fantastic picture. There's so much of you in Henry, in particular. My approach to life, relationships, everything really, is to simply move ahead, assuming that all is well unless I'm told it's not. There's a sort of blinkered quality to this kind of thinking, but I suppose we're all in denial to some degree. I realize your life with Sophie brings these existential questions to the fore. I am glad she's out of the hospital -- I'm sorry that I hadn't even realized she'd been in again.
Where was I? There w/you, for a brief overlap anyway, at the Slice of Life (keeping my eye on Paul). Who was I? Naive, newly married, pockets full of cash/coins from waitressing, backpack full of philosophy/theology books (basically Thanatos) that still mystify me. Miss you (and Luke) and love this pic