I’ve been thinking a lot about dying lately, because why wouldn’t I? The human curse, I guess.
So, on the table for my nose surgery, deviated septum, I told myself that when they put the mask, I would try to stay awake for as long as I could, fight it, try to savor the life around me. I wanted letting go to be my decision, not theirs. I wanted to be aware that I was slipping away, like it was practice for dying.
Waking up later, my mom was next to me. How are you feeling, sweetheart? I couldn’t find a way to explain to her how disappointed I was that I hadn’t registered the time passing, that I had wasted a precious opportunity.
I’m fine, mom.
And I was, I think, because I knew I would have another chance to know what dying was like. Or, at least one more chance.
This is Not Your City