Let Me Forget Myself

A delayed flight therapy post

But what are kings, when regiment is gone, but perfect shadows in a sunshine day? I know not, but of this I am assured, that death ends all, and I can die but once. Come, death, and with thy fingers close mine eyes, or if I live, let me forget myself...

Christopher Marlowe, Edward II

The first time I heard the quote above was during my friend’s production of Edward II in 1999. I fell in love with that show, with that company, with that quote. I became a groupie, and as a young, impressionable, up-and-coming theatre artist, I volunteered my time and energy towards whatever was needed at The Journeymen Theater. But as much as I could recite Marlowe, my understanding of the deeper meaning of his words was limited to my experience. What does a 20-year-old understand of death? We’re immortal at that age, don’t you know?

I am currently writing from the airport, waiting for my delayed flight. I hadn’t meant to write another post until I finish a video I wanted to share with you, but here I am. This isn’t a lighthearted post. This is a hope-this-makes-my-heart-less-raw post. Because the last few days have been a lingering dull ache that keeps making my eyes fill up, and I’m sitting here with a lump in my throat and a knot in my stomach.

I’ve been in this state since I learned of the devastation in Camp Mystic in Texas. Watching videos of the water rising. Watching news of the death toll rise. And with every little body found and announced, the ache has gotten tighter. All those parents who diligently packed and sent their kids for a memorable life experience, not knowing they were sending them off to their deaths. All those little girls smiling and taking photos on their first day of camp, hugging their stuffies, laughing with their friends. Then, terrified in the darkness, confused in the cold, crying out for their moms. What did they know of death?

I stopped looking at social media. Looking at the few reports only brought more of that on my feed. So now I just carry the heaviness, hoping for relief that doesn’t come. I deliberately wanted to avoid any more news today as it is flying day and selfishly wanted to keep my energies positive before my flight, before I get to go home and hold my own kids.

But stupid thoughts won’t let up, and they wander off visiting mothers wailing atop dead babies in Gaza. And then they visit kids in cancer wards. And then kids who’ve gone missing in the underground psychopathic child trafficking rings. I feel the burden of not turning away, of holding the weight, just a little, just for a while longer, because by doing so, it might help alleviate the sadness of the world even by a tiny iota.

Today, I got an email notification that they’re moving my friend Bob to hospice. Do you wanna see him one last time, they ask? Do I? What do I say? I guess we weren’t very close. Would I want to have someone not so close come to my deathbed? Is this for me or for them? Just because I’ve been staring at my own mortality in the mirror, does that make me desirable around deathbeds? Are death and I on a first-name basis?

But death is on a first-name basis with everybody, dontcha know?

Yesterday, my friend Diane texted that her kitty died. I was on a thread with her and Marta, and Marta asked how her heart was. Marta has a great sense of what to say and what to ask at difficult times. I almost texted her to help me get over this emotional stasis before deciding otherwise, before assuming that living through it was the responsible thing to do; carrying the ache is what is needed for the world to go on. Life is full of pangs. And life, as they say, is for the living.

My flight is about to board. Writing has helped a little with the emotions, and I hope I’m not abusing my readership with this brief therapy session. I think my next video ought to be a more desired and welcomed post. I’ll be hitting send before getting to edit. Adding an image I took from the border that made an impression on me: Cease fire. Stop the bombing. Free Palestine. There are enough cruelties caused by nature in this world. We don’t need the man-made horrors on top of all that.

So what are we, then, when this physical expression of our existence comes to a close? I don’t know, but I know this particular expression of you only comes through once. Death comes for us all sooner or later, but for as long as it’s later, let the current version of you be better than the last.

I’m trying to do right by that. Even if it’s heavy. I will carry the burden. I will carry the burden.

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