I was never really afraid of dying until one of my best friends died. She was 22, healthy, beautiful, intelligent, and one of those girls you just knew was going to do well in life. But her life ended much too early, and the day she died, I couldn’t help but contemplate the length of my own life. It sounds selfish, but isn’t that what we do when someone dies? Immediately reflect on our own state of being, fear losing everything we have, want to contact every person we love just in case we might also leave this earth early. And for about thirty seconds, all of that ran through my mind. And then I cried.
I never used to think about my heartbeat. It just kind of beat, and I’d feel it beat harder when I exercised, right after sex, when something startled me, or soaking in a hot and quiet tub. But, now I think about it all the time. I reach my two fingertips up to my neck sometimes, just to check its rhythm, to make sure it's not beating abnormally, not that I even know what is normal for a heartbeat. But I’m aware of it. I envision my tiny blood vessels pumping through my veins, flowing constantly all the time, without ever stopping. Ever.
For Diana, they just stopped. She had a blood clot that started in her calf, and three months later it reached her lungs, moved into her heart, and killed her. They did everything they could, for this young strong heart.
I was always proud of myself for not fearing death, for not letting it keep me up at night, or scare me from being adventurous. But, now it truly does. Now, I know how quickly it can come, how tragic it can be, how final its result is. Because now, every time I feel a cramp or pain in my leg, I think of Diana. I think I have a blood clot, and could possibly be dying. And, I’m afraid. Afraid of it more than anything. I work myself up, and then force myself to do something else, distract my mind with something that forces me to move, to breathe, to feel my heart beat.
And, every time I hear sirens, I see Diana lying on the concrete outside of where she worked, collapsed, her blood no longer moving.
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Wow Libba, this definitely is the the beginning of an intriguing and mournful essay. Please pursue discussing this further and if you decide to, what direction would you go in? Would you talk about your relationship with Diana or how your own death will slowly consume you one day....and how does that realization change the way you live your life now? We all think of ourselves when someone we know dies because we don't know when it could (and inevitably will) happen to us.
ReplyDeletethis is a powerful topic for you Libba. it hadn't occurred to me before but your knack for writing about place combined with your (somewhat premature) view of body-as-vulnerable gives you an incredibly rich arena from which to write.
ReplyDeletethe body as place. fascinating.
PS, sorry about the loss of your good friend. that was lousy.
Oh Libba, this makes me so sad! But it's so powerful, powerfully written and shared. I think this could work into an essay or memoir about your body and sports you've played, if you decide you want to write more on those topics.
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