A study in distance and perspective

I am in heathrow, sans baby, waiting for my gate announcement for a flight to LA. Grandpa is 90 and the family are gathering for much deserved celebrations. This year for me is a year of a new perspective on life and turning 90 seemed like a good reason to jet off and surprise the old, old man...hopefully not too much, though.

Life and death suddenly seem very entwined to me. Having been someone who thought herself to be accepting of the inevitability of death, I was surprised to find that I actually held a more 'them-not-me' attitude.

Since the birth, the trauma, Noah being taken from me too soon, I find that I am actually a terrified wreak of a woman. Since Noah died, my whole life feels divided into before and after. Before, I never considered the worst case scenario could happen. After, I am overly cautious, imagining horrific scenarios at almost every turn. Death seems so near. And it changed me.

At this moment, the nearness of death has inspired me to see my 90 year old grandfather before its too late. It makes me want to say 'blow the expense, I'm going!'. But it also makes me worry about what will happen. Will I return? Will Ethan be ok? Consequently I went a bit mad on the insurance-front with my rental car, now that I anticipate the possibility of the worst being a reality.

But surrounded by strangers, as I observe my fellow travellers, I know I must also acknowledge the best possible realities. Look at all of us, each with a life story, still travelling onwards. I think of sweet, but tough, little Ethan. Life still holds joy, as well as terror and pain.

Months after Noah passed away, I switched on the TV after Ethan had gone to bed. I am often so touched by his soft sweetness as he drifts towards sleepiness that I grieve Noah all the more in the evening.

That evening, I was hurting. I boiled inside with the injustice of it and collapsed onto the sofa under a cloud of grief. There on the TV was a news story about an 11-year-old Congolese boy whose arms were blown off by a bomb while he was tending his family's goats. He sat in the corner, silent, as his father explained the tragedy.

I realised that life holds injustice for us all, even the most innocent and undeserving. I now scan the faces of the people around me and know that each set of eyes conceal their own personal pain. Tragedies, horrors that touch each person. I imagine a league table, a hierarchy of pains from each of us written out in black-and-white on giant chalkboard. And I would hazard to guess that despite my pain, I may not be on the top of the list.

Cheery? No. But true and strangely it imbues me with a sense of calm and compassion for my fellow humans and gives hope for myself. When I was caught up in my own tragedy, I felt overwhelmed; weak and like I wanted to run away. Now, people-watching and taking perspective, I feel stronger. And more than ever happy and tied to my own little family, in my own stories, tragedy and all.

So here I come LA.