Have you ever spilled a drink at a party? Your body is numb from excitement, or maybe too many drinks, and your hand is sweaty, but so is the rest of you. Maybe you stumble into a table and knock a red cup from the edge, or maybe your hand forgets the weight it is carrying, releasing its troubles with your own. Then you watch. It’s a moment where things slow down, the cup drops, tips, spills, and the contents that had once burned and bubbled in your throat are now darkening the thin carpet of whatever basement you’re in. In a second everything speeds up, blurring the memory of your mistake and perhaps even erasing it forever, but it was there. In the midst of the spinning, and the noise, and the chatter, and the pounding, everything stopped.
That’s what dying feels like. You don’t recall all the wrongs you’ve done. You don’t think about your dog or that old woman you ignored on the street. You don’t even breathe. You just watch. Numbness sets in and your eyes widen or lid, and then I can only describe falling. Maybe there’s panic, or maybe it’s peace. Either way, you’re falling into it and you’re too slow to stop it.
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