We are born alone, and at the end, we die alone. We may be surrounded by friends or family, but there are moments when you have the stark realization that your life, while intertwined with others', is still very much exclusive to you. That's not to be morbid, or negative, or foreboding. A lot of people don't like it, but it's the perception of an inevitability I have come to accept.
However.
As I am writing this in a mold-infested slum of an apartment with things strewn about the place nearly wall to wall in every room, three broken vehicles outside, a dog dying of cancer in her final hours, and my wife struggling to breathe as she sleeps beside me, I'm content. I know that these things are a part of my life for a reason. In fact, this apartment saved my ass many, many times, the latest of which was due to losing my high-paying job in June of last year, and my wife had to fund our existence with her income alone and the savings we'd accrued. If it hadn't been for the apartment being as inexpensive as it is, we'd have been in real trouble.
I have a new job now that doesn't pay as much (which seems to be the trend these days) but, I have a great boss, and no more ER visits for heart attack scares turned anxiety attacks. My office was a conference room at one point, and at 13'x19' it is comfortable to say the least. It is partially a storage room for computer equipment, but I have a conference room table as a desk and a microwave, toaster oven, mini fridge, Keurig, and a tea pot in there. My work van has cruise control and remote start. I set my own schedule for the most part. There's no over time, so if I go over I take the time off at the end of my Fridays.
My mom passed away several years ago now, and the dog had been her dog, but she didn't treat her well and this was one of those rare times my wife put her foot down and said we were taking the dog, who, after several months of getting better food, came around and was a happy little shih-tsu with a bossy attitude that made my wife very, very happy. The dog is nearly EOL, and after an attempt to remove the cancerous growth on her leg, will soon pass away from it as it has filled her body. She's made my wife happy and has lived over 15 years at this point, so while her loss will be felt, we gave her a good life.
Vehicles = broken. That's just the way it goes. But I have a MINI Cooper S and a Ford Ranger in my parking spot (long spots!), and my wife has an Abarth in hers. We're not millionaires but we drive fun vehicles, and you already know that amongst the things strewn throughout the apartment are car parts, which makes me happy because I've chosen personal reliance and a DIY lifestyle over just paying someone else to do things so that this multifunctional people box I call home can again be the Swiss army knife of living spaces, and continue to give me the peace of mind it has for nearly 15 years now.
My wife of 19 years has severe sleep apnea (119 episodes per night) but has just received an oxygen pump and CPAP. Her sleep is already much better, but she's having some issues getting used to it so sometimes she'll sleep without it. When she does, it's still a bit rough. We have certainly had our ups and downs, but she's snuggled up to me and if I nudge her she changes position so as to breathe a bit better.
I have nearly died 3 times in my life, which gives you a new perspective of what it means to live your life alone. Covid was the second time I nearly died, and as my wife sat out in the parking lot of the ER because the hospital was on lockdown, I listened to another patient who had lost many family members to the virus say, "call your people, brother. You ain't coming out. Call your people."
I knew I wasn't going to make it. I had a temp of 103.2, double pneumonia, and three days prior I was fine. It was hitting me hard, and then as I prepared to let the light go out, I was given one of the greatest gifts I've ever received - a monoclonal antibody and B12 infusion. It was like a rocket to recovery! As I walked back out to the parking lot, I felt like my own ghost. I had gone to die, and yet it was not my time. Nothing had changed.
That night my fever broke so hard I woke up to my wife yelling at me in panic. I had saturated everything from the mattress topper to the comforter in sweat. I had temporary amnesia. I didn't know who she was, or who I was, or where I was, just that I was being pushed into a shower with hot water already running. I was trembling from the cold so hard my whole body was violently shaking.
It took me nearly 15 minutes to realize what had happened. The nurse at the ER had said that either the infusion would work or it wouldn't. There was no "chance". The infusion did what the shot couldn't - it neutered the virus by destroying the spike protein that allowed it to invade other cells to make more virus. I spent the next two months slowly getting over my pneumonia, still with the sense that I was alive but shouldn't be.
I am grateful for a lot of things; life itself among them, but I know now that my life is just mine. It is the one thing that belongs solely to me. I am alone in this world, and what I choose to do on this time I am allowed is solely mine.
I think I'll build a Ranger.
PS. You guys are pretty cool.
