musings on death.

Thursday, 23 November 2017


So that's it. Edith is older than Ezra. Feels weird. A bit anti-climactic. There should be something to mark the occasion and yet nothing. I remember having said the same about Ezra's birthday, and every other "anniversary". My sentiments have not changed regarding that. There’s no fanfare and no congratulations. No medal. I think it's more that I don't want congratulations for her still being alive, more congratulations for myself having not gone entirely insane (and had I it would have been unapologetically so because I don't do things in halves apparently). Our situation is so different from most people on instagram that I feel like the anxiety isn’t quite understood. I thought, maybe naively, that it would lessen a little as she got older, but now I’m more paranoid than ever, it’s like every day she lives past her brother is a stolen day, we’re lucky she’s got it, and that it could just go away at any point. It’s like I’m creeping around on the eggshells of life, trying not to bring any attention to myself lest the powers that be realise we’ve ticked over our allocated time and they come to take what is theirs. In all honesty I didn't think I'd have another baby. I didn't think that even if I did it would end up in a baby, I didn't think that we would get there. Here. (I wonder if that’s the same for those whose child has been stillborn? When immediately your child is older than the one you lost.)
It feels bittersweet. I'm always going to be wondering whether Ezra would have done this one thing that Edith has. I'm always going to wonder what he would have looked like in the clothes she now fits in, because they were his clothes. 
In all honesty I never thought we'd get here, and maybe that sounds off in the sense that Where Else Would This End? What happened to Ezra and to me, and everyone else with the misfortune of being in this club, is unlikely and is the minority percentage. It's probably not going to happen again (though, of course it does and that's just even fucking worse), so where else would I end up after having a living baby but with a living baby? A toddler? A child? Teenager? And so on in the normal timeline. I'm feeling a little lost. I don't know what to expect and suddenly I feel very inadequate whereas before I was giving advice I'm now to be receiving and asking (if my pride allows) I am theoretically trained in the childcare I suppose, the technicalities, but less so in practise. From yesterday to today nothing has really changed. Just another day.
I've been given a look behind the curtain, it's A if I've stared into the face of mortality and only now come to truly understand it, that death is inevitable. People are taken indiscriminately, no matter age or health or sex or wealth or status. We are all on a list to die and have no idea of what place we are. Am I tenth or ten billionth? Soon or after those who haven't even been conceived yet? 

This day has brought with it some extremely conflicting feelings - an intense fear of death's coldness and definiteness, but also a sort of serene understanding that it's inevitable and that I'm facing that fear whether I like it or not. I can only hope that the next death I come face to face with is more in the natural order of things. I like to hope that when my own time comes I'll have garnered a relationship with it so that I might go as with an old friend, at the right time, rather than a bloody fight. 

Post a Comment