It's Sunday night, I have no real reason to post anything but feel it's been awhile since my last posting. I find it ironic that it is cold, wet and snowy tonight as it was when I last posted... funny how life works, but there have been sunny days between these snowy ones and time seems to have passed as it always does.
I thought I'd have a sentimental, somewhat sad, thoughtful post today, for no reason other than it's how I feel right now. When I was in high school I used to write a lot, and when I say a lot, I mean it. I have journals that I filled with my teenage angst, frustrations, depression, anger, fear, and sadness. There was a lot of sadness back then, life wasn't exactly easy but I still found little joys threaded into my existence. It's a little crazy to me now, to look back and read some of my journal entries. I was in a dark place for many of them, a place I haven't been for a very long time, which I'm grateful for but there are odd times throughout my days that I miss the darkness. There was a familiarity about it, a warm inside it that became a safe place. It's hard to explain, and I'm not saying I'd go back but there are times that I think, "I used to be complicated, I'm not complicated anymore". It was exhausting then, as life is not anymore. Life is easier, less heavy. Remember, I told you this was going to be a thoughtful posting, stick with me or bail now... whatever you choose, I'm okay with it. (c:
I had the opportunity to revisit a CD that I used to be drawn to and in finding this CD I encountered others from my past. CDs that defined my emotional well being at the time that I listened to them, CDs I haven't listened to in years, they've grown dusty and forgotten. As I listened to this CD, Little Earthquakes by Tori Amos, I was taken back. I remembered knowing every single lyric back then and now, struggled to remember the chorus to some of the songs. Forgotten pathways from youth, cobwebs strewn about, re-tracing the words.
Life is funny that way, it carries on. If there's one thing you learn from death is that life is continuous. No matter who it is, or how monumental the loss, life just keeps on. Some days that is the hardest part of loss.
The beginning of every year is difficult for me, this year marks the 15th year my brother has been dead, and the 13th year my dad has been gone. My brother, Brian, was 15 when he died. It wasn't until the anniversary that I realized this, that he has been dead the exact amount of years he lived. What does this mean, really? To me, it's frightening, I've already "outlived" him but now, life has evolved to a point that for every year that passes means he's been dead longer than he lived. This is extremely sad to me, and difficult to process. I think about it often, I try to remember him better this year than the last 14, but as I said before, life goes on.
A patient died recently that maybe shouldn't have died, this is always difficult for me. There were many factors contributing to her death but my interactions could have affected the outcome. It's hard not to relive every minute leading up to her demise but I have, repeatedly. I've begun to let it go, I'm working through it, dealing with it and moving on, hoping that the next patient I encounter with the same signs and symptoms I can take that experience and learn from it. I suppose I just wish it had not been at the cost of her life. Again, life moves on.
So I'll end this posting, let it soak in and let time pass and see what's up for my life next.
Until next time...