Unaware

March 1, 2019

I’ve lived with the knowledge of this tumor for almost a year now. I’ve changed, for sure. Gained weight and wisdom. But I still haven’t resolved the fact that I might die.

I might die. i might die. i might die. i might die. I. Might. Die. I MIGHT DIE!!!!!! At any moment. If I drop dead at twenty-four, no one is going to wonder why. Be sad? Yes. Shocked? No. I have to wonder if it’s more of a surprise to my parents that I call them after each appointment to tell them I’m still alive than if the doctor had called to tell them I wasn’t.

But I still haven’t internalized this truth. I’m told I’m dying with the same regularity that Marvel releases a new movie and yet I still don’t know what it means or really believe it. I cry, I cope, I carry on. But I haven’t realized the actual truth that I’m supposed to have been dead long before now but still, here I am, typing the truth to myself until I believe it. Is this truth too heavy to carry? My shoulders are kind of sloping and very narrow and grocery bags fall off them regularly, so maybe I’m just not built for this knowledge. Maybe my brain won’t let it sink deeply because it doesn’t need to take up space. Oh but I feel myself slipping into denial here.

Everyone is dying each day, anyone can die unexpectedly, why does the knowledge of my potentially imminent death need to settle into my mind? What makes me different?

If another twenty-four-year-old woman dies suddenly, she’ll not have lived fearing that moment so realistically because she didn’t see it coming. If I die suddenly, it will be like finally getting caught in a long game of tag where I’ve been able to keep looking back and seeing death get within a few inches of catching me. I fear there are only so many times you can avoid that grasp, and if so, that I’ll reach that limit soon enough. If I just died and didn’t know, I wouldn’t have lived with the weight of my decisions. Or measured out the time, the resources of my life. I would have just lived. I’ve lost the ability to just live. I’ve got to measure, ration, bargain my way with my abilities, efforts, time, relationships, work. If something doesn’t add meaning, it’s got to go. I don’t have anything extra to give. Nothing will be leftover. When I haven’t accepted that I might die, it means I haven’t accepted that my life has meaning. I haven’t accepted the responsibility of living a life of meaning.  

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