The Other Salt Water
She sits at her desk amidst the clutter, both in her brain and on the table that acts as a desk. Laundry is happening, but the house is oddly quiet. She is one week away from finally taking a trip after years of going nowhere.
Well, there were a few visits to Boston to visit her Nephew and one trip to Pittsburgh to attend her uncle’s funeral. Her uncle who fought and fought through the cancer and a body that was shutting down, passing away 4 weeks to the day after her mom. So, an overdue trip is an understatement. The covid years turned into cancer battles and medical mysteries and endless trips to hospitals, doctors, and a few long term facilities watching her mom decline rapidly while fighting to get the cancer out of her own body. When permission was given her mom simply let go and passed away with the tv remote in her hand the day her mom was told she would no longer be taking her medication and had roughly 7-10 days to live.
The question was ‘how long do I have if I am no longer taking my meds or able to eat and drink?’ and the answer was that a body will generally shut down within 7-10 days if not able to take in water. She had been struggling to keep anything down, including water. WATER! The thing we need to survive, the thing we are made up of, became the thing her body kept rejecting. So, by the time that info was shared it had already been days really without the basic anything being digested or consumed. A permission slip passed, and their mom went to sleep with the tv on and that was that.
To say ‘that was that’ is really a huge oversimplification though, isn’t it? It’s never that simple and yet it is. She simply accepted the information and that she had lived a good life and needed to be done. Her body agreed.
The less simple part is that we all then have to find a way to move on.
She who sits at her desk is really me, and I am months into grieving and daily morning cries, mixed with occasional nights of lying in bed, tears slowly rolling down my face unsure of where to put the grief.
Bring it to the water, she hears a voice tell her. Get those bags packed, get on that plane, and bring pieces of your sadness to the water and leave them there. Rinse and repeat as often as needed.
And so she does.