The In-between

For people dying. Those on the precipice of living. Not quite alive. Unable to interact. No affect. Breathing still but perhaps barely. Or labored. Or something not quite right. Not quite. Not right. Only existing. Just stillness.

But not for those around them. Those who care. Those who are caretaking. Those who love deeply. Those who have been connected through invisible lines of thoughts and feelings and premonitions and binds that cannot be undone. Even in death.

For these people. The ones who float in uncertainty. Satellites. Of a being on the edge.

Deep trenches. Vast swaths. Of pain. Of darkness. Of sadness and loss. Sometimes bubbling to the surface.

Caught off guard. While going through daily life. Living. Supporting family. By feelings of nausea. Of wanting to run fast and far and find a quiet place. To vomit. Up. Everything.

Hoping. In the darkness. That today will be the last breath. The last sigh. The last pain experienced. In this body. In this lifetime. In this moment.

Advocating always. Meetings. Phone calls. Distress. Begging to find a release from physical pain. Another approach. Another attempt. Another protocol.

Helpless feelings of unknowing. What is felt. Thought. Experienced.

Unable to touch reach out see with my own eyes. Because of this Pandemic.

(But sometimes I feel her. While driving. While running. While being. I feel that connection. Of growing in her womb. Of knowing her thoughts, words before they came out of her mouth. Sometimes I think I feel her spirit. Even in this in-between. I know. With every fiber of my being. That this is not what she wants. Not where she wants to be.)

On this precipice. This cliff. Waiting to jump. Fall. Fly. Holding onto this last breath. Inhaling moment of space time energy.

(I imagine holding her hand. Being with her while she lets go. This last breath. I have somehow always imagined being with her at this very moment in time. Having been at the side of death. Of my dad. Of others. Next to my mom. With her. So many times.

I wonder if this is the part I grieve the most. Not sharing the final months weeks days minutes moments with her. As expected. As promised without words. Knowing she would want me by her side.)

Waiting for the exhale.

(Picture of mom with Nikki, the Director of Wellspring Village, September 28, 2020)