I subscribe (is that the right word?) to the theory that we never totally forget anything; that we only require the appropriate “trigger” to bring it back.
This is how I explain my tendency to speak in other people’s words.
What I’m thinking will frequently be encapsulated in a line from some show/movie/book, and I find myself thankful for a simple, apt way to convey what I’m feeling.
I suppose it’s only natural to find more pithy expression in lines that were (one may assume) designed to be effective.
An exchange on House M.D.:
“Think about him, he’s the one dying.”
“It’s easier to die than to watch someone die.”
We don’t know that Grandma is dying particularly faster than the rest of us, but it is becoming more obvious she’s not getting better like she should. And that is very had to watch. That “good feeling,” the sense of security I had about the operation, that’s been used up.
Telling details have always intrigued me in writing/reading, and now I have small painful examples in my own world.
- Inability to make understand and decisions (“I don’t know,” is the most frequent thing she says).
- numbers and colors being confused (she couldn’t line up the tiles in Rummikub tonight).
- The bread at the hospital is always bad.
- She cares enough not to eat it, but not enough to ask for something better.
We’re praying. Many people are.
The question that comes back to me–it first entered my “trembling mind” the day of her operation– is, “How do you prepare to lose someone?”
The phrase “practice dying” is in my head from somewhere. And the two are tied together in my mind. Here are two things you can’t possibly “practice.”
There is the exception of Mary/Martha/Lazarus, I suppose… I really wonder if they handled it better the second time around…