My father reached the age of sicty five. My mother is sixty three. They have both lived their lives badly, not taking care of themselves and are not in good shape. He has been under surgery for tumor removal at least three times. She is an alcoholic with heart issues.
A good friend of mine is fighting against cancer. But thinking about his survival has an aftertaste of battke, a focsu on what he will have to do in order to win over the illness, that gives his case and what i might feel about it a whole different edge.
That edge was there also whenever my father, with whom i never had a good relationship and left many things unsoved, was on a hospital bed. I got used to force myself into thinking about what to do, where to visit hiom, what docotor i should talk to, what sort of procedure he would have to follow. That always gave me the emotional detachment and armour i needed to forget that in the event of his death, i would have felt guilty of not ever giving him what he wanted from me. Of spending time dodging his attitude, more than focusing on building good thinbgs between us.
I always tried to live my life one minute at a time. And iu am not saying this in a romantical way. I had to focus on my daily grind, on immediate goals, on the repetition of simple taskks, or my tenedncy to fraking out and the fear for the future would have crushed me into a hole of depression and possible suicide attempts very quickly. Yet, living this way, takes time away from you in a subtle manner. You survive, filling days with actions and trying to work your way through them. But at the first pause, you look backj and you suddenly realize that everything around you has changed.
People have changed. Some of them died. And at moments i realize that my family could die soon. Wihout any warning.
I tried at times to face the fact and rebuild a rtelationship with them, but it was messy and awkward. I havent been a good person for many years. I havent given them any grandkids. Not that those things wouldve made them happier perople, of that i'm certain. Still, there is much more i couldve done and now its way too late to be fixed.
Thats what really kinda puzzles me. Its a war between my need to not obsess on what i could change, on what has gone away, on what i shouldve done or not done, on how days and time are slipping through my fingers, on how i seem to be unable to make most things better, on how a lot of the later years of my life seem to have been sucked into a hole and how i seem to have lost more things and people than i've gained.... My need to not think of that daily, and all night, letting my head rot on "what ifs" and disappointments so i can actually stay alive and the fact that all said thinks happened and will keep happening. People will die, time will disappear, i will loose friends and loved ones and make mistakes and i have no idea of how i can stop it. I have an almost certain feeling that i will die alone, that the world will move on without me and that i will realize that the ones i fought wer the only ones that cared.