The act of dying

It was like a bad dream watching Lynn die, and I couldn’t do anything about it. There was no revelation, no feeling of a spirit or soul leaving her body. There were no angels or column of light from heaven. She just stopped breathing. I had never thought about this process before, but I expected it would be more spiritual. I wanted God’s hands to reach down, cradle her gently, and take her home. I wanted to hear a choir of angels. I know this must sound ridiculous, but losing Lynn was so profound to me that I couldn’t believe her actual death was so uneventful. The world should have stopped for a moment to recognize her passing.

Of course, it was a tremendous personal loss. I loved Lynn so much and hated what she had gone through. I couldn’t stand the life she had lived for the last five months. That’s all we got: five months from start to end, but her death was somewhat of a relief. I felt guilty for that feeling. Have you ever wanted a loved one to die? These incredibly conflicted emotions in me would last a while.

It turns out I lied to Lynn a while back. I wasn’t going to be OK, at least not for a long time. What is profound about my losing Lynn is the deep loss and pain, and the profound loneliness even when not alone.

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