Waiting for the end

As the theme of this blog concerns my fears about the fate of humanity, I suppose it would make sense to address the fact that the world was supposed to have ended several hours ago. I am writing this at 0:33 on Saturday 22^nd December, 2012, and as far as I can see we are still here. Unless the main consequence of the apocalypse is one grand hallucination which looks distinctly pre-apocalyptic. But then, why not accept that the whole shebang is some form of brains-in-vats, Matrix-like virtual reality and be done with it?

I can’t help wondering what it must have been like for those that really did believe that the world was going to end. To be thinking that death was inevitable and imminent, that all that one cared about was about to be horrifically destroyed . . . I simply can’t imagine what genuine anticipation of such a catastrophic scenario could have felt like. Terror? Acceptance? Liberty? Or, like my own fears that are the premise for this blog (see First entry), was it just Too Much to Compute?

What is worse: a sudden, unexpected cataclysmic life-event, or drawn-out anticipation of something terrible yet inevitable? I guess the answer is obvious, and that the chance to come to terms and say goodbye beforehand is an evident blessing. The chance to really value time spent together, to really appreciate what other human beings bring to us, just before it is too late. For so many different butterfly-wing-triggered reasons, every meeting could be the last, every goodbye final, without us knowing until after the event. But when those of the medical profession pass verdict, and a loved one’s end becomes that much more inevitable and imminent, only then do we stop taking things for granted. Yet we also, somehow, resist grinding to a halt; we keep muddling on, and waiting.

My grandmother, having barely suffered a day of ill health in all her life, was diagnosed with cancer at the age of 81 and given only weeks to live. And so all the family, herself included, got on with life, whilst waiting for her death that bit more consciously than before. I would find myself imagining where I would be when I finally received the news, how I would react; even how, at her funeral, I would finally meet all the people she had talked about but never introduced to me. In the end, she lived for two more years, and when the news finally came I was in a foreign country, pregnant, and unable to travel to her funeral.

In 2002 my grandfather (other side of the family) suffered a major stroke that left him severely disabled, unable to move, speak or eat. Coming shortly after a heart operation, he was not really expected to survive long. In fact he lived, bedridden, immobile and pretty much incomprehensible, for more than ten years. When he finally passed away I was in a foreign country, breastfeeding a newborn baby, and unable to travel to the funeral.

With age the waiting games inevitably move closer to home. My current "game" began over a year ago: as early as the diagnosis for some; only when chemotherapy was withdrawn for the more optimistic/naive (me). I suspect, for the person concerned, it began as soon as she acknowledged the symptoms, and chose to seek medical help later rather than sooner. Sometimes I imagine where I will be when I finally receive the news. Will I somehow know, when it happens, via cosmic resonances or some such paranormal phenomenon, before I get THE phone call? Or will I be in the room at the moment of passing, and really be "there" for her?

I know that I must appreciate the time left, value every moment, and be grateful for the fact that every goodbye so far has not turned out to be the last. But I also find myself somehow becoming numb to the anticipation. As always, I keep doing what the everyday dictates, and just keep muddling on. More to follow.