I swear that my Facebook and Instagram account know the moment I begin browsing. It’s as if all attention is suddenly piqued and turned to me — the algorithms know exactly what makes me go weak in the knees. They must have caught me one morning unawares, especially since I am no so rarely on social media in comparison to where I once was… In secs, they have me sucked in. I was browsing only, I thought and then before I knew it, I was in deep, knee high, waist high. Yesterday I had to go back to what must have been lonely early morning click purchases to cancel them all. No, that is not what I want but early in the morning you must have caught me at a moment when I thought I did!
I used instagram to document the last months of Neil’s life. It wasn’t intentional. In many ways it was tongue-in-cheek, a response to the many shinier than thou, amazing vacation and happy family scenes. I captured the 911 calls, not in an exploitative fashion but capturing the strange things that pop up — the heavy boots, the big hats, the way I always thought the EMT were giants, especially in our teeny tiny house. I’d post photos of the bags of golden yellow platelets, the wires, the machines, the view from the room, the millions of ways he’d fall asleep or not sleep at all. The golden yellow ‘fall gown’, the wearing away of a man slowly, the glimpses of hope, of getting better. The smiles that came after a long and weary night, the way the red light on his forefinger reminded me of ET, go home. The way we longed to go home, and the few times we did before we had to head right back to the hospital again. I didn’t realize I was documenting the end. Or many some part of me did. I wonder whether it’s the part of me that online shops early morning and clicks away.
If so, no surprise that we are miles and miles away from each other, ships crossing in the night. I don’t know why she browses what she does early in the morning. I seem to be looking at other sites, have my view elsewhere. I do wonder whether at some point we might meet and make peace, a truce of some kind that could lead to real change, not just fleeting hope. So much hope has left. Having dreams so often seems superfluous now. I’ve seen how quickly things can fall apart. Even browsing only gives me no joy, no real hope, except many early, early in the moment when something deep within me stirs. Maybe it’s hope or loneliness. Maybe it’s just the sucker in me. The part of me that always believes against all hope, that never ever gives up. Yeah, that part of me that would do anything, everything, all things to keep from falling apart.