The death of two parents spread over such a chasm of time reassures me that I have grown up. had feared the brutal spectacle and harsh rattle of death. I had feared being alone with her at the final judgmental moment of leaving, feared I would abandon her and not offer a last comfort, that split second of reassurance as she left. Yet none of those fears came true.
I find rebirthing to be excruciating. I am consciously participating in its unfolding. That is part of the pain. The awareness. The consciousness. The involvement. It is not going easily or quietly or calmly. It is agony. Filled with bottomless voids, and oh so many memories. Memories of the past and of what could have been. But will not be. And I struggle to make new memories.