dying

It’s different than you think it will be, assuming you have ever thought about it. Dying, that is. Lying there, having been told that your blood is toxic, that you are lucky to be here, that if you had gone home tonight, you would be dead by the weekend. Your life doesn’t play out before your eyes. Nothing much happens. Just the waiting. They come and they poke you with needles and they attach wires and straps to you, saying little except the same questions that you have answered a dozen times before.

So you lie there, your mind blank, as suddenly nothing important is important anymore. Those regrets of your past? They no longer matter. Those stresses that have been keeping you awake at night? They no longer matter. Those things you meant to do, but never got the chance to? Those matter, right? No… not so much. If you didn’t have the chance,

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you didn’t have the chance. You’d be surprised what doesn’t bother you when you look death in the eye. There is only one thing that gets to you as you stare at that cold ceiling above the nurses’ station. The only thing that comes to mind is what you had a chance to do, didn’t do, but still can. There is something in you that you told yourself you would do, but didn’t for no real reason other than that you didn’t. No one else may care. It may be something that most people don’t know about. But that is what will fill your mind this sleepless night.

And that’s all. Seems off, doesn’t it? For all the drama and suspense we hand to death. For all the fear. For all the worry. That’s it. Just the silence. Just the nothing. Boring, a bit, to be honest.

So let’s not do that.