rendezvous at the cliffside
I wonder if this gondola will swing in the wind and cause us to fall to our deaths?
Oh hello, intrusive thought, good to see ya. I breathe and wait for the feeling of fear to wrap me up. A new thought arrives, this one of my head hitting a rock as the gondola crashes on Telluride’s steepest, immediately dead.
The longer I sat with the thought, I realized it wasn’t intrusive at all --- just a thought. No fear. I mean yes, the part where my head crashes into the rock is a little dramatic and intrusively scary but the part about dying there in that moment and the notable absence of fear -- I’ve thought a lot about that since then.
The initial reaction was right – I don’t fear Death, but I think I used to.
I want to be clear – I am not experiencing the slightest ounce of suicidality.
And, after this year, I understand that Death will come as an acquaintance, not a stranger.
My first real year working as a healer and diagnostician was a simultaneously long and short journey of ineffable peaks and valleys of emotion. I met many travelers on my way – Delirium, Exhaustion, Malady, Grief, Devastation. Interestingly, despite their similarities, they traveled independently, meeting me at different points on my inaugural pilgrimage, destination unknown. Apparently Lonely isn’t the only associate who prefers to travel alone. Sometimes they’d bunker down at camp and stay the fortnight, making their presence indisputable. Sometimes they’d join me silently at bedtime, leaving before morning, chased away by the love, joy and humor in my life. Sleep proved to be a respectable deterrent to most wary travelers.
Peaks and valleys don’t talk enough about the cliffs and their edges. This cliff, this edge, this fate, it is of no return. At the bottom you’ll find the definite and certain truth of Death, and eventually the comfort of Grief. Unfortunately, many travelers teeter on the edge indefinitely.
Hospitals don’t do a good job of getting the blood smell out of the blankets when they wash them. Sure, they bleach them and put them through Oxivir[1] wash cycles but somehow, they hold on to the smell of the pathology they’ve seen. The plastic couch under the window folds out to make a bed. If you layer enough of the smelly blankets, it’s an adequate surface to lie on. I’d suggest you try to hang out with Sleep, but I think Delirium and Exhaustion have other plans for you. If not, vital checks every four hours and continuous heart rate monitoring make for consistent but tortuous companions. I’ve seen other travelers imprisoned for days which turn into weeks which turn into months which turn into years. Captives to the cliffside, desperate to return to the valleys, daring not to ask for return to the peaks. Feebly solaced by blankets which smell like blood and one free cafeteria meal tray daily. Delirium, Exhaustion, Malady, Devastation, Grief, sojourning as if the rooms on the eighth floor are comparable to a room at the Four Seasons.
So, while on the gondola traversing the mountains I was raised in, with the sunshine on my face, with my own kinfolk wrapping me in warmth, I thought about the families I met during my intern year. I thought about crashing into the mountainside, my head hitting a rock, and I thought about Death. Death, my old friend. Let’s skip the small talk with Devastation and Exhaustion and Delirium; I can do without the DynaMap[2] alarm clocks. I thought Respite and Joy and Contentment and Gratitude and Love, travelers and friends from this life and the last. Thank you for the lesson. I understand now that there are fates worse than Death.
Half-Alive is the adversary. Death is a friend.
Should the gondola fall, and should we meet again, I will meet my friend Death with a hug - a reunion many peaks, valleys, and cliffs in the making.
[1] Wipes and solutions effective against a broad spectrum of pathogens commonly found on surfaces and implicated in infections, including human coronavirus, influenza, MRSA, and small, non-enveloped viruses, such as norovirus and rhinovirus.
[2] DynaMap: Device for Indirect Non-invasive Mean Arterial Pressure aka blood pressure machine that beeps all the dang time