Last weekend, I shifted into another level of my reality. I’ve come to grips with the fact I will probably die earlier than I would have without long-Covid. I’m okay with that. I’ve grieved over it, made preparations. I’m finally mucking through with the things I need to finish before I die and I feel loved. I feel deeply loved. Dying is okay when you’ve felt your purpose and you’ve been loved. Well, it’s not exactly easy, but it’s a reality I’ll be ready to face when it comes.
But getting lost as I walked back to my car was a reality I hadn’t prepared for. I could end up being a person who forgets who I am. I could forget who loves me. So, I spent the weekend grieving. I did. I leaned over during a movie we were watching and told Mike that Dr. Kevorkian had a point. Mike paused the movie and we talked for a while about the progression from getting lost to being lost. I talked about how the point I’d want to do a kevorian would be a point beyond which I’d recognize him and Nick or even be aware of myself. It was a conundrum.
“You’re not there yet,” he said. “Not even close.” It helped, but not a lot. So, I sat in front of the TV and burned battery time on my phone playing Solitaire. And I grieved.
What is worse than death? Is it losing your body as your mind continues to reel through its ideas and conversations or is it losing your mind, and knowing it, and not dying before you sink into the muck of never being able to recognize your son or say, “Thank you, Sweetie,” when your husband brings you a plate of hot food?
Do I continue to write so you can see when the confusion takes over and I have no coherent ideas left? Is that a legacy I want to leave to the world?
My cognitive therapist says the long Covid may not progress that way or that far. I tried to smile and nod, but inside my head, I didn’t feel her hope. I still don’t. I know I have more time to bumble about at home, feeling loved, and not being responsible for too much, but I dread the end, the weight of my confusion making Mike and Nick’s lives impossible and turning them into strangers. I don’t want to do that. I also don’t want to suck down thousands of dollars at a home having no significant way to appreciate the painting classes, the card games, and the prepared meals. I don’t want to lose my soul as my brain deteriorates. Will I lose my soul?
That sounds like hell to me.
Thank you for listening, jules