talking about death

Wanting to Talk to a Mirror Touch Synesthete

Today is almost a free day. I have book club later, but I don’t have much else to drain me. I always love starting a free day but when I actually get to it, I almost always use it to rest and that’s disappointing. When I’m mostly through and I realize it, I get a sinking feeling. I know I need to adjust my expectations, but I haven’t yet. Anticipation is giving me grief.

I’m still grieving over lost parts of my brain. My librarian hugged me yesterday. I told her that I miss being myself around my sister, Lily. She met my sister once and they began to talk as if they’d known each other for years. I ended up telling her about this process of grief.

My sister Lily is one of those people who can feel your pain, a mirror touch synesthete. Oliver Sacks’ books reported that it’s a real neurological reaction for some people, to literally feel pain when someone describes pain. I don’t wish that on Lily, to feel pain. She just can’t talk about this. She couldn’t talk about when I felt I was dying either. I had been blacking out and having a very high heart rate back then. Every time I tried to sleep, spinning or floating, I felt I might not wake up. I faced mortality in a way I never had before. A lot of people couldn’t talk about it. Now, I’m grieving over losing parts of my brain, one of the most important events of my life along with accepting my death, and I can’t share it with so many people I love because they feel uncomfortable talking about it. Thank God for Nick and Mike, and for four or five other friends who can sit with these thoughts. Thank God for my librarian friend.

I still miss my sister.

Thank you for listening, jules