I’ve been fooling myself. I’ve been going along convincing myself the damage wasn’t that bad, wasn’t already done, wasn’t irreversible. I’ve been living my life like our precious dear isn’t terminal. Our best friend, our soul mate, our confidant, our light in the darkness…on the verge of darkness, gone from our lives forever.
I have to face this. I have to acknowledge this. I have to stand up and admit it out loud.
No is dying.
No is in a coma, a persistent vegetative state. I can’t stand the thought of pulling the plug, but it seems inevitable. The words permanent vegetative state have been muttered, and fallen on stubborn ears. No isn’t functioning, existing on machines pumping oxygen, fluids, and food. No is dying.
It didn’t start out so bad. No was unconscious, but we could still talk about No as if still alive and well. We shared stories of nights with No at our side, audible and visible. We shared stories of afternoons with No, dinners with No, evenings at the movies, and walks along the river. We laughed until we cried, and cried until we laughed again. Oh the stories! We each had at least one when No wrapped comforting arms around us and protected us from harm.
Sure, No was more unreliable than not. There were nights we needed No and No wasn’t there. There were walks through cities, day and night, when No was supposed to be with us and No wasn’t. But those weren’t the stories we shared, at first.
Soon enough, No deteriorated and machines took over failing processes. We lamented the dinners when No left an empty seat, silver all still in place. Who cares! we screamed, No was never really there for us to begin with! Stories rounded the room of missed movie nights, and dancing alone and walking alone, all the times we needed No and No was too busy doing whatever it is No does when No isn’t around.
Of course then we felt guilty for blaming No for not being there when we most need No. We made a collective pact to call No more often, to shout No when No was most needed, to let No know without a shadow of a doubt that No was important, that No mattered, that we needed No and wouldn’t ever let No go again.
Then we cried. We cried the purest cry we could cry. We cried for what was becoming the inevitable loss of No. We cried for ourselves. We cried for No. No has so much potential, and we feared deeply and greatly because No may never see the greatness that No could become.
Then we wiped our tears. No is dying. The intervention necessary to revitalize No is going to take more than we have on our own. It’s going to take more than we have together. What it’s going to take is nothing short of a miracle, but a miracle is what we’re asking for. At least that’s how it feels.
It feels like this loss is coming, this plug will be pulled, forced as it will have to be, and No will be wiped from the face of this earth, buried, gone, and eventually forgotten as time heals the wounds, as laments become memories, and memories become lost as stories aren’t passed down from generation to generation anymore. No will become a myth, a once-was that may not have really ever been.
*featured image Gravestone 3 by ~Kaitrosebd-Stock. Creative Commons image (kaitrosebd-stock.deviantart.com): note by the artist, “not that picky, just not for profit use outside of deviantart.”