Two Lives

A 'kind-of' poem about how we each live two lives

I remember it clearly,
seeing her laying there so calm, so still,
her head nestled in the divot of a large white pillow,
her aged dark complexion at odds with the clinical white of the hospital room, its contrast a testament to the beauty of nature’s creation — a patina elegantly carved from all of life’s seasons.

And like a puppeteer, the room held her by tubes and cords
that dipped and weaved around her.
Despite the unwelcomed hit of artificial smells and cold damp air,
I somehow felt her warmth amongst it all.

Her radiant smile, even in her dying moments, a defiant symbol of life.
Her freckled face, her crow’s feet, the lines that began across her forehead and crept down her neck,
the kind of richness in expression only a life lived could show.

As I approached her, there wasn’t a noticeable change in her expression so much as a slight shift that only I could see—
a message meant for me and me alone.
And slight though it was, it sent me home one more time.

For in that moment I could smell her freshly baked lasagne, and hear her humming as she prepared the table for dinner.
And now, by her side, she reached for me.
For the final time, I held her hand in mine,
and through the walls of her delicate skin— the machinery of her hand on show,
their raw tenderness a reminder of life’s brittlety.

She always had a way of knowing more than she should,
as if her eyes could see farther and her ears hear more distant.
Like a lady made of water, she touched my eyes,
which I hadn’t cared so much for, even as my wetted cheeks reflected the dulled blur of the monitor lights beside her.

But she told me not to worry.
She told me it would be okay, just as she’d always done.
And once more I believed her.
Once more I became the little boy she had consoled, although this time she had more to say,

“Please don’t worry, my boy, as this is my first life.”

Caught off guard, all I could do was look back blankly.

She read the pause and answered back, “You see, every soul lives two lives. Have I not told you this before?”

Two lives?

“Yes”

“Two lives.”

"The first we live is one of great challenge, of deep suffering—
that which we do not choose.
It is God’s will that we humans must experience it,
to endure a hard life first.

It is His greatest lesson.

And like Proteus, our hardships are not fixed
but take many different forms—
some through cancer, others through war, some through deep loss,
and others are taken from us too soon.
Without question, adversity defines our first life.

And this life of mine, the life I have just lived,
for me, my dear, was my first.
Yes, my lights may be dimming early.
Yes, I have felt the tribulations of the mind.
And yes, I bear the scars of a loveless childhood.

But through my pain came the greatest gift:
to have raised you, the most kind and loving son a mother could ask for.
The light of your flame enough to ward off the dark that was my world.
Through you I felt the loving bond between a parent and child
that had once bypassed me.

But I ask not for your pity.
Life follows a certain path, a path I do not wish to contend with,
and I have now reached the end of my first path,
grateful for the learnings it gave me.

And now Eireen’s torch lights up my eyes,
offering at last to put all to rest.

As I part with my first life, my soul sheds its old skin,
readying itself for the next,
slowly untangling from the web of its old existence
and opening its arms to the new world that awaits.

Granted a chance to experience a different life,
a chance to feel lighter on my feet as I skip,
where the rope will trip me less than it once had.

And upon my departure from my second life, my final life,
my old self will appear again before me.
There I will meet her tired face,
and hear the quiver of her words as they leave her mouth, as I gently caress her timid hands and feel her troubled beat through my fingertips.

And I will see plainly how,
in the conceitedness of my second self,
I was forced to accept the greater nuance life presents—
that all I had taken for granted as my own doing, for all my achievements and ease in life, I will come to realise it was simply part of a bigger plan, a grander script of two.

For an easy life, as enjoyable as it is, is mostly absent of wisdom’s guide ropes,
and bound to a path of relative naivity.

So please know now that I will be in a better place, but for those who are not, for those still in their first life, it is my dying wish that you will respond to their pain with commensurate kindness.”