The Irony of It

They say when you are dying, or someone is dying, that your life (or theirs, I suppose) flashes through your mind.  That you have all sorts of thoughts.  On what you did, should have done, could have done, would have done.  Maybe that’s true.  I don’t remember.  All I know that is today -there are no thoughts running through my head.  No memories.  No thoughts.  There is absolutely nothing.  My mind is completely empty.  So empty, in fact, that when I attempted to talk to someone today it came out in a mad jumble of nonsense that made NO sense, and made me sound like I was irritated with the person I was talking to.

I have mentally begged to stop every step of the way.  I didn’t want to get out of bed that Saturday morning.  I didn’t want to get in the car.  Didn’t want to get on the airplane.  I didn’t want to walk the halls of the hospital.  Every door in that seemingly endless row of doors that we passed, I gained a small fraction of hope that maybe, just maybe we would keep walking.  And we wouldn’t have to stop.  We would just keep going.  But just as I started to entertain these thoughts, the nurse stopped, opened the door -and led us in.  Shattering whatever hope remained.  No matter how foolish it may have been.

As if stopping, would somehow bring this all to a screeching halt.

It’s ironic, much of it.  Ironic that six years ago I was writing that it “Was Over.”  Ironic that I honestly believed that at the time, it was over.  The we had finally found that middle ground where things would probably suck at times -but we would make it out.  Ironic because out of all of them, I really believed he was the one that would be ok.  Ironic, I supposed -that I let myself believe these things.  Blind hope, I suppose.

The one question that has been haunting me I suppose, is wondering what was missed.  Obviously I suppose it was just being blinded by the false hope that reality was ok -when really, it wasn’t.  Choosing to believe that things were ok -when they weren’t.  Holding onto hope that this life really had something worth holding onto -when really, the only thing there is to hold onto is the reality that things will never be ok.

It’s ironic, I suppose -that the one place I have fought so hard to stay away from, is the one place that seems the most inviting and the most comforting.  Ironic that I tried.  That I thought this would work.  That it would be better.

I guess the only thing that really rings true, is this time, perhaps -it really is over.


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