But they're dying

J. is, in truth, a dirty old man. For 72, he still knows how to harrass the help in the most obnoxious ways. He isn't one of my clients, just someone I met recently.

Living in a small town, I've learned there are somethings you can't change. One is the curiosity of what you do with your time. I think people can't imagine anything thing exciting going on, so they need to verify with others, by finding out what exactly they do with their time.

So, when he asks me about massage therapy practice, I tell him I work with hospice

"Hospice?" he says "isn't that.."
"Yes, usually 6 months or less" I say

the jokester glint left his eyes

"that's kind of scary!" he says as he takes a step back. I notice the change in his normally jubilant attitude

"How do you mean?"

"Well, knowing that they are going die!"

"oh, it's not that bad. I know what I'm getting into when I arrive, so I'm prepared"

"But, they are dying!" he shudders

I was shocked at first at this reaction by a 72 year old man with his share of medical issues. I felt a little vidicated that I, "a girl" ,in his eyes, could face something he could not... at the same time I realized that in all those 72 years of his, he most likey has not faced death as a reality in his life as often as I had assumed he had... just because he was old.

I put in check my haughtiness, may pride and my later pity.. This is most of us. We don't think about death the way we should. We are taught to be afraid of it so we will pay our insurance premiums without question.

I was reading about the death of a fellow bloggers friend, and something she said clicked for me, especially dealing with hospice. This person (that was dying) stated that death was part of life and talking about death and accepting death in that manner was not letting go of life, but encompassing the whole of life.

We search for something that completes us, be it a partner, a job, a house. and find ourselves unhappy, or yet unfullfilled. We search and search for that piece of life that we are missing. What if that piece was in essence the absence of life itself. Not as something morbid or frightning... but as night is to day. How much brighter our day becomes after the darkness of night. When we can not be afraid of death, and love it as part of our being, perhaps then we can love our life. Perhaps.