“I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory” – Alexander Hamilton, Hamilton
This line has haunted me this past month.
This line followed me across Iceland
As I drove 10 hours in one day to see a glacier lagoon.
It echoed in my mind
As I cuddled my dogs and had morning tea with my parents.
It crept through my mind
As I saw friends and family I hadn’t seen all year.
It lurked around corners
As I walked down streets and drove down narrow roads
I am so lucky
I could die tomorrow
I could die 10 minutes from now
And I would die doing this very thing
And it would be a good way to go.
I don’t let people make jokes about dying
If I love you, I have imagined it
I have imagined losing you
Finding out, and trying to live with the hole
You would tear in my universe.
You aren’t allowed to joke about it
Because I can almost remember how it feels.
But the thought of my own
Chases me relentlessly
And spurs me to action
And has yet to leave me filled with regret.
When it finally happens,
In my bed or seven feet ahead of me
I want the people I love to know I love them
And to know that I used my time
If only I could remember it every day
And not just on holiday.
NOTE: YES this is all coming out of Hamilton. Don’t act surprised. I’ve only listened to it non-stop for almost a year now. I won’t say I fully like this piece – it feels like it’s meant to be two separate things but I can’t figure out how to cleave it in half. It’s just a bit messy, which is fitting because at this moment in time, I am messy.
Who lives, who dies, who tells your story….