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Every once in a while it hits me: One day I will no longer be on this plant in human form. This realization never ceases to shock me. I can't recall what jolted me into this latest awareness. Writing about death puts death at a safe distance even as it enables me to study it more closely.

I am filled with great sadness when I think of being gone. It's a tender sadness--a soft spot, an aching--in the heart area of my chest. I don't want to die. I want to live forever, and I can't. No one does.

There is nothing to be done about this. It just is. All I can do is take care of my life while I am still alive. There's a feeling of kindness toward myself that comes into awareness when I think about my own limited time remaining. This feeling of kindness has been a long time coming.

cold, unmoving
a hospice nurse
pulls up the blanket