Seems like for the last few days, my feed is full of death. A friend lost the love of her life after a difficult stint caring for him in his illness; another friend marked the anniversary of a similar loss, and a few others floated by from people I don’t know.
I want the people who are loved
by the people I love
To stop dying.
But then I think of the Earth
choked with too many of us.
I can’t ignore the inconvenient truth:
We can’t stop dying or even postpone it much
Until we have somewhere else to go
And a way to move enough of us there.
And then I think of another poem
And a line that’s been etched in my brain
Since I read it twenty years ago:
“Someone else’s friends
Died that day, not mine.”
It leaves me caught
in an uncomfortable place
between wishes.
Note: the poem referred to was written by Jo Walton, on the collapse of the I-35W bridge collapse in Minneapolis in 2007.
One thing I can wish for, I guess, is what I think of as a ‘good death’, and both of the ones I mention above were that, or nearly: with people who loved them and after a long life full of creativity and friends. I’d only add “without pain or suffering” to those.
(Sorry, depressing entry today. I’m sick. On the other hand I am sick for the best of reasons; we just got back from a wonderful trip to Turkey, with some of my favorite relatives of Ted’s, and there were hikes and historical ruins to be seen (including Troy!!), then a wedding and much happiness. This cold is from the hugs, not the plane ride back, because I started feeling it on our last day there.)