dçldkl
çdlld
"I miss my life." - Farrah Fawcett
dkjdkl
Your death was overshadowed, the exact same day, by the sudden, misterious death of a certain super-mega-star by the name of Michael Jackson. It did not, however, go unnoticed to me.
I knew of your recent struggle with a very rare kind of anal cancer. I had heard from your step-daughter, Tatum O'Neal, of your courage and resilience to fight. I did not know, however, the exact details of that struggle, until very recently, right after your death when, flipping through TV channels, I came across a documentary about your 2 year endeavour with cancer. You were considered a miracle by your german doctor, because you survived much more than was expected.
In the course of this documentary you said something that made me cry like I haven't cried in a very long time and made me realize I have been bottling up an enormous amount of emotions that needed to be released. You said: "I miss my life." And in those words, Farrah, although what you went through was a zillion times worse than what I am going through, I could finally express everything I have been feeling for the past 4 months and have been unable, somehow, to express, even to myself.
kjdfk
I miss my life. So very much. I miss myself. I miss my old me. I miss my hair, my skin, my whole breast, my good feet, my strong legs, my energy, my healthy stomach and intestines.
I miss my life. For I have not been living a life in the past 4 months, but a kind of intermission, a very long, very awkward, very frightening intermission void, where I feel I have to be stuck patiently and desperately waiting for someone to tell me that I can go on with my life.
I miss my life. For this is no life. For this is not me, anymore, and when I look in the mirror I don't even recognize myself anymore. I only see an alien being, rottening inside and outside, with no hair, no eyebrows and no eyelashes, with skin falling off of her hands like a snake and hunched shoulders, heavy with the weight of embarassment, of confusion, of despair.
I miss my life. And no one, not even those who are very close and have helped me cross this long desert, can imagine this. They can't imagine how much I pretend, how much I have pretended even to myself. They can't imagine the terror of having a brief encounter with death.
lkjfds
You reminded me of that, Farrah. And you reminded me that I never want to forget that brief encounter. Others might say I should. Others might say I should not think about it at all. They are wrong. Brief as it may have been, that encounter with death changed my life forever, although I may have tried not to allow it to, although I may not have wanted it to or noticed that it did.
Like a whiff of air from the movement of a swinging door, death rushed by me and disappeared in the corner of a street, but it left its mark upon me. It took eternity away from me, that sense that things will last forever and that there is still an immeasureable amount of time ahead of me.
Death crossed my path and stole that from me, for good. No one understands this, I know. I know you would, Farrah. I know you would understand why I can't ever allow myself to forget this. For time heals everything and leaves us naked, fragile and vulnerable again. It makes us believe in things that are unreal, again. It makes us hope, again, for eternity. And there is no such thing as eternity.
So I must keep in my mind, forever locked in a secure place, my encounter with death and learn the lesson it has taught me. She is ruthless and does not allow second chances.
kdlglf
Thank you and farewell, Farrah Fawcett.
I hope God has let you wet the tips of your wings in the rain, like you wished.
Sem comentários:
Enviar um comentário