A friend of mine worries that she'll be alone at the end. This is a common fear but for some reason I who have so many fears don't have this one. In fact, I assume I will be alone at the end. I picture myself helpless in a hospital bed, with only strangers passing through and I believe that somehow I'll manage to make it all right. I may be fooling myself but I can imagine a profound acceptance flowing through me - whatever is, is. And the comfort of my mind, my consciousness, still having thoughts, still thinking about things. Yes, I may be fooling myself but the lack of fear of the end is a very good illusion to have.
Years ago, I was selling my photos and ephemera at an outdoor market. There was an older woman selling next to me and midday I realize she was having some sort of trouble. Her face had turned white, she couldn't catch her breathe and looked like she was going to pass out. In seconds, several of us were helping her to sit down, asked if she wanted water, said we should call 911. But she said to wait, she was sure she'd be all right. And she was. Her color returned, she took deep breaths and telephoned her son who came, packed her up and drove her home.
I often think of her surrounded by strangers rushing to help. I think, if we had called an ambulance and I rode with her, I'd be holding her hand and I don't doubt that I'd be feeling as much care and concern, as much love for her as I ever have. And she'd be feeling it for me. The touch of another human hand - even a stranger's hand - maybe it's enough to be touching life at the moment of letting go.
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