On not winning

Updated to add: This post is about someone I love who is dying after a long illness.  I am not suicidal, and apologize to everyone who misinterpreted this.  I was vague out of respect for the family's privacy.

When someone sick dies, I always hear people say, “They lost their battle,” or something similar.  It has always bothered me.  This isn’t a contest.  This is life.  You don’t win or lose life.  You just live it. 

I pulled out my funeral clothes tonight.  I tried on the dresses to be sure my swollen belly would accommodate them.  As I ironed them, long forgotten memories resurfaced, a heart heavy moving picture in my mind. 

I find that adults I knew as a child are inextricably tied to that period in my life.  Being with them reminds me that I was a child once, and that to them, I always will be.  I feel like their deaths forever render a part of me five years old, because their perception of me can never change if they’re no longer alive.  But I don’t think that’s so bad, for part of me to always be small. 

I am grateful that I know people like that, people who can remember when I was still an unformed person.  They remind me that change is a part of life.  I see the evidence in the lines that mark their face with time.  I feel it when I see them see the lines on mine.    

You don’t have to “win your battle” to die honorably.  You win by loving people and being loved, no matter what choices you make.  Sometimes knowing when to lay down your sword buys you the most reward.  Sometimes choosing peace is best. 

I’ll always remember the people who loved me when I was young and all the years we shared the world together.  I am glad that we were part of the same clan, even when things were really hard. 

I’m sorry that it’s over.  I’m really going to miss you.