7 years ago today I went into the hospital for what might have been called a routine test based on a minor concern.
My blood pressure was a bit high.
If I remember anything, when I think back, I remember being worried, but convinced that this was merely a bump in the road. Things would be fine, I thought. We would laugh about this. I asked for one of the fetal monitoring strips to put in the bun’s baby book.
I really did think it would be all right.
I didn’t think he would die. I didn’t have any idea that I might die.
People tell me now, in the middle of difficult situations, that things will work out, that things will be ok. Mostly I just want to smack them. What arrogance, what presumption. Things will be all right because you wish them to be?
The situation will – one way or another – end. Nothing carries on forever. But to say that it will be ok?
7 years later, as I remember, as I think back, I know this to be true: never again will I automatically assume that things will be fine, simply because someone tells me they will be. Never again will I tell someone that things will be fine, that things will work out as they should. Never again will I hold platitudes in the face of uncertainty.
Things will end. All things. Sometimes they will end well and safely and I will never take that for granted. Sometimes they will end badly. And I will keep living.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
WH Auden, Funeral Blues