Well friends, my present life is taking yet another curious twist.
Long story short, I may be working at an exotic car dealership before too long. It’s still an entry-level job but it pays better than the job I’m working now.
I’m frankly blown away by how easy it’s been too. They seem very keen on me. If I get this job it will be a tremendous blessing since I’ll finally be able to put aside serious money for my wedding.
I’ll post an update if I do get this job.
I suddenly remembered what it was like to die in bed of natural causes, except I don’t remember what life it was. Couldn’t have been Phil (comatose) or Jack (instantaneous), but I don’t think it was Count William (though he did die in bed) and I suspect it wasn’t James (probably drowned). Maybe it was my 18th century life in the colonies? Or perhaps it was that life somewhere in Central Europe that I dreamed vividly about, the one where I was an old man on my death bed in a house that I loved, round about the 17th century. I guess it could have been a life I haven’t recalled yet.
It was a sense memory. Deep fatigue, fatigue like I’d never felt while living. A burning in my chest as every breath became an effort; that was the most prominent sensation. You know how people who have near-death experiences describe how they were able to just let go and it was a huge relief? That’s how it felt, like it was easier to let go than keep going. But I kept going anyway. I tried to stay, tried to live on, I didn’t want to die. But I was so very, very tired. My mind was already shutting down. I couldn’t keep going though my last thoughts were of how much I wanted to. I guttered away as I lost my grip. It probably seemed peaceful to those watching but I wasn’t ready for it, mentally.
I always figured dying that way would be so much easier, but I suppose if you’re so attached that you can’t let go until fatigue gets you, then maybe it’s just as bad as if you die running for your life.
This is heavy… wish I could remember when this was and what kind of life I’d lived up to that point. Was I clinging to life because I loved someone or something? Or was I clinging to life because I was afraid I’d go to hell for the things I’d done? Or maybe I simply clung to life because I was afraid of the unknown, afraid of leaving certainty. That’s a common attitude in the last 400 years, isn’t it? Certainty is praised, and uncertainty is abhorred, but when it comes to the great leap into death, we aren’t certain of anything except losing the apparatus for interacting with this material plane and forming certain kinds of judgments that are impossible in an ethereal state. Death is significant, as major transitions go.
But some people are more ready than others, and there’s usually a good reason why they’re especially anxious about it. What was mine? That question’s going to haunt me now.
Just wanted to check in briefly.
I find that although I hate my job, it’s been helpful. Every day the war gets more distant though it’s still there. I expect I’ll be about as healed as I’ll ever be once I’ve had a chance to travel to Flanders and France and pay respects so that will still be a likely end to this blog.
Already, it’s winding down. The memories of anything before this life are rare now. I expect I’ll still have some difficult days but they’ve gotten fewer.
To my regular readers, please pardon my absence. Lately, present-life issues- among them my spiking gender dysphoria- have been taking center stage.
I just got word that my pre-GRS electrolysis has been approved by my health plan, after almost a year of waiting.
The electrolysis is absolutely necessary, to prevent hair growing in places it oughtn’t once the surgery is complete (which can lead to infection among other things). However, OHP has treated it like an optional procedure in the past, then they decided that they’d only approve it if a doctor performed it (this isn’t performed by doctors, ever). Then they decided they’d only cover half-hour sessions when one hour sessions were necessary.
But now it’s down to a game of phone tag. I’ll keep trying to get in touch with the specialist who will be doing the procedure and soon, I’ll have an appointment set.
Once I begin electrolysis, we’re looking at 9-12 months before I can get my surgery. I’m extremely concerned that a Trump presidency (and the resultant dismantling of Obamacare) will pull the rug out from under me again in what has been a nightmarishly complicated process. I currently make about $1100 a month and at the end of the pay period I hardly have enough to put in savings, so paying for the surgery out of pocket is laughably out of reach. Trump’s “health savings accounts” require you to have money coming in to begin with, which I suppose is fine if you earn more than $30K a year, but will generally be useless to those of us who don’t have a lot to put in savings.
I’m also concerned that once my company health insurance kicks in I might lose OHP and end up with a plan (like the one I had with Portland State) that requires me to pay a $5000-8000 copay for the surgery.
In other words, I’m not out of the woods yet. I’m pretty much at the mercy of my employer, the state of Oregon, and whoever wins the election. I feel frustrated and helpless despite moving forward ever so slightly.
Life has become an emotional roller coaster of late.
I’d already had a really bad week, and then I found out today that one of the senior members of our church, a much-beloved older lady, passed away on Monday.
I had last seen her a day before she died, and I can’t say I’m surprised. She had been in ill health for a long time and had suffered a silent heart attack not too long ago. By last Sunday, she was breathing slowly, seemed wan and pale, and complained that she hadn’t had much of an appetite. I knew from seeing her that she was gravely ill. She even described herself as such. But she did come to mass, despite blacking out several times during the service.
Still, it hit hard. She was fast becoming like a grandmother to me. I wear her old cassock when I serve at the altar. I shared a lot of things with her, including past lives. She even helped me buy some new shoes when I was still broke and between jobs. She only missed mass once in the time I’ve been at this church, and that was more than a month ago; she managed to make it to one more at the very end.
I sincerely hope she is not cursed to return to this world. Reunion with the Light is the only thing I could hope for such a soul as hers.
Then I got an e-mail this evening from Encyclopedia Britannica. They’ve seen the quality of my scholarly work on Longespee and they want me to contribute. What strange, awkward, and emotionally draining timing they chose for this.