As I look around. Well more back and forward. It seems I'm on the final panel of a triptych. The first panel was early life. The youth of me with all its Jesus did I really do that moments. The middle panel, meeting Donna, getting married, working, my business, the stable time. The final panel, Donna's diagnosis, her death, my grief, my isolation, The slow erosion of my physical self with the subsequent stabbing of emotional health.
Ya know it was funny. Or should I use a more active voice. It is funny. After my TBI nearly dead moment I spent a few months with a neuropsych. One of the points I made was how my life is beginning to fall away. Not the TBI but the fact recently I could not day in and day out put my pants and socks on standing. There were days when I needed to sit down. I was shocked that the end was near. Today as I'm writing this I think what a fucking joke. My innocence was cringe worthy. The brush strokes of my life on the third panel are coming together. The colors are vibrant and intense. Though there is a darkness, a muting of colors on the edges.
I do need to sit and pants myself five out of seven days. Socks standing you ask? Well depending on the socks there is an Olympic Diving degree of difficulty. So easy socks, say Forward Dive yup I got it. If the sock is Forward Flying 2.5 Somersault well sit and labored breathing. And those are just socks. There have been some recent physical changes. mmmmm how to say it without saying it? Kinda falling the fuck apart faster than I expected. Those things are presenting themselves like the monsters we grew up believing lived in the closet. The door swings open and boo I got you.
I don't live in denial that this too shall pass. Called the medicine man to check this all out. Which the wait to know is the interstitial time of roiling anxiety. Less anxiety of father time knock out. A time of putting the plan I've prepared when I started on the third panel of my triptych. The Will, the executor, the estate, etc. have been done a long time ago. The more problematic lists are what to do with all the shit in the home? Art, books, records, electronics, cookware, etc. etc. etc. All of that just makes my head spin. This assumes the grimness of the fear materialize like that fly in the kitchen I can't kill. Just buzzing around laughing at me. Depending on the health situation to be brutally ugly it will be time to KMS. As I wrote in "Donna, A Photo Memoir of Love and Loss" my DIY death is MLF (My Little Friend). Don't Fear the Reaper
A recent GeriPal Podcast "Death Anxiety" crossed my inbox/ Timely as hell I'd say. I linked to the YouTube. The cliff notes on Death Anxiety: Death anxiety is not a pathology. It's parr of our human anxiety. The manifestations of death anxiety and how we behave varies greatly. Manifestations of death anxiety can be debilitating, or personal growth, or connection to others, or to find meaning. We all die differently. Speaks loudly not just at this moment but for the moments of Donna's diagnosis and death. Which will be another post.
Peace out y'all. LOL I could post my own ending here and no one would notice. Yelling into the wilderness is in and of itself a comfort.