Melissa

 

I think about the last hour of my life quite a bit, as I have a sneaky illness that could result in my death today, next week, or 20 years from now. As a result of that knowledge, I thought it would be easy to write this, but seeing it written down removes the abstraction of “someday”. I am afraid, a little. But I am afraid in the way I would be fearful about any big change. I’m not sure what it will be like, but I know it will be an adventure.

I want to be alone. Death seems a very private thing to me. Also, I will need my wits about me, to be fully present. I don’t believe that would be possible if my family were with me. I would be terribly distracted. I’ve talked about this with them, and they know how I feel.

I want to be alert. I want to see the face of the Beloved as death approaches. I want to be able remember myself as the Voyager. I would have a copy of the ABD next to me, or possibly in my hand, to remind me.

I want to be outside, in the fresh air. The sounds of nature would be my music.

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Part 2

A little note to Melissa from Melissa. After last night’s class, I realized that all the things I specifically DO NOT WANT are the the very things a Voyager should have. Touchstones. Way points. Scents, sounds, voices that are familiar and grounding.

Why would I say I want to be alone when I die? It’s ego again, isn’t it?

“I don’t need any help. I can just die all by myself, thank you. I read the book. I’ve got it down.”

I want Leonard Cohen’s “Closing Time” playing . . .