Some regular themes on this blog are impermanence and mortality. Sometimes, even, musings meander further into the nature of human impermanence within identity, looking at how even ourselves are an ongoing process – there is no static “I” behind them, rather a human becoming. In Heidegger’s Being and Time, he speaks of human perception of our own mortality as being one in which we regularly lose sight of the fact that our death is always looming as an imminent possibility that limits our life. We’re “always already ahead of ourselves”, looking forward to the future, planning the next, thinking that it’ll just keep going on. In some ways, who’s to blame this approach of an existentially forgetful bravado of certainty? We wake up to day after day, where seasons, jobs, relationships, and our bodies, even, change gradually and belie a false repetition a la Deleuze of the apparent more or less same old, same old. To riff on Deleuze again, the truth of repetition is the actually brilliant coming to being of uniqueness in each moment of apparent sameness. Each iteration is different, and ultimately to return to Heidegger’s quandary, there is no guarantee for another.
Even though I’ve pondered all of these for years both in reading texts such as those above alongside similar ideas within Buddhism and Taoism as well as dug into pondering impermanence and human existence in personal practice such as writing posts and meditation, it’s far too easy to get lost in that fallenness of losing awareness that every moment is precious, and that applies most greatly to those connections in our lives that move us deeply.
The last year has been difficult in many ways that feel both like a continuation of the last few years for myself, and yet, a strikingly different set of key tonalities have changed the tune of the song while retaining the same themes. I’ve learned a lot about trying to be mindfully aware of how much of an illusion it is to think “We’re always going to have more time”. You can’t count on the idea that you’ll ever get to do something with someone again, no matter how mundane, no matter how familiar, no matter how routine.
One of my closest friends of my life has been in it for the last ten years. We’ve had a lot of life spent together, and at this point, we feel like family to each other. Last year, she was diagnosed with cancer quite suddenly after months of medical issues. A couple of things became clear immediately – 1) the reports I’ve heard for years that women aren’t treated with full attention and respect by doctors are true: any of the several doctors who had checked my friend in the months before her diagnosis could have discovered the cancer as quickly as the tech who did a simple due diligence check on cancer as a possible cause of the main symptom she had had through that entire journey, and 2) that Heideggerian immanence of death’s possibility moved from being unnoticed to fully obvious: there was no certainty how much longer she’ll be here.
The second follows a bit more of a Kubler-Ross trajectory of coping. We put a lot of hope in her first round of chemo and the doctors’ rosy takes on progress. That was last year. This year has been a long round of finding more and more tumors, finding that the initial chemo didn’t address any of those others, as well as more problematic doctors, more medical procedures, more issues, and more pain. It’s been really hard, particularly because part of last year’s version of this was that my friend was going to have to wrap up her life here in the next year or two and move back to be with her family far away in another country. This year fully jump started that process from a year or two in the future to immediately, as she got all of those medical procedures done abroad. As such, the coming to terms has been one of hope and denial, to pushing for better treatment, to finally trying to come to terms with whatever will happen.
I feel cheated in a lot of ways. My friend is having these severe medical issues at far too young of an age. America’s healthcare system is fundamentally broken, which has exacerbated the course of this entire issue. If it weren’t, she would have likely gotten the full help she needed much sooner, and she could have possibly stayed here for further treatment – the home she’s been living in for years.
The point I’m trying to get to with both the more philosophical beginning and the more personal anecdotes of my friend’s medical story is that you should try to be mindful of the time and events in your life, especially the moments shared with the people for whom you care. As dramatic and painful as this particular story is, it reveals that hidden aspect of death – our relationship’s time duration was never guaranteed. I could have died in a rainy car accident on a late drive home from her place on dozens of occasions, not to mention a myriad of other possibilities. Just like the posts from a few years ago about my dad suddenly and unexpectedly dying too young, there simply isn’t always going to be more time. We never know when any situation is going to end.
So, take a moment right now. Look at what you’re doing. Think about your day. Think about your family, your life, your health, and try to generate some gratitude and equanimity for all of it. Of course, we’re always already sitting in the midst of an array of difficulties, hence the attempt to generate some equanimity, but beyond that, there is very likely (aware in writing this that some people are in dire situations, and I’m writing from a description of more of the generic, day to day life that we generally are ignorant of) so much beauty and wonder in your life to be grateful for if you can take a moment to look past your own far-eyed ignorance.
On the Way 
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