The only reason I survived is because I wasn't alone.
[That seems important to say first, to elaborate: she doesn't come back down here because it's easy.]
I feel like... for me, part of healing is paying that forward. It doesn't have to be for anyone else.
[She pauses, and it has weight; her gaze seems to turn inward. Memory drags her... back, sideways, both -- for the OA, time has taken on a peculiar quality, become a plane more than it is a line; keeping it all in some semblance of order takes effort. Usually she doesn't bother. In the immediate moment it seems important to try.]
And maybe because I know what comes next, or... eventually. Some of it.
[She squeezes her eyes shut, brow furrowing as she shakes her head. Difficult to explain, without context. Readjust. A different angle:]
I, um. My job; I help people die. People who are going to; I help them come to terms with it. Sit with them, you know. Let them be... anguished, angry, whatever they need to be.
[A sigh, neither contented nor wistful nor sad, just an expression of weight.]
It's the most private thing any of us are ever going to do, the one thing we absolutely have to do alone, and nobody ever wants to talk about it. I can't make the process joyful, but I can make it... better.
[Some days it feels like what she was made for. Some days are harder. Either way she's grateful.
A furrow creases her brow then smooths away, chased by a smile.]
no subject
[That seems important to say first, to elaborate: she doesn't come back down here because it's easy.]
I feel like... for me, part of healing is paying that forward. It doesn't have to be for anyone else.
[She pauses, and it has weight; her gaze seems to turn inward. Memory drags her... back, sideways, both -- for the OA, time has taken on a peculiar quality, become a plane more than it is a line; keeping it all in some semblance of order takes effort. Usually she doesn't bother. In the immediate moment it seems important to try.]
And maybe because I know what comes next, or... eventually. Some of it.
[She squeezes her eyes shut, brow furrowing as she shakes her head. Difficult to explain, without context. Readjust. A different angle:]
I, um. My job; I help people die. People who are going to; I help them come to terms with it. Sit with them, you know. Let them be... anguished, angry, whatever they need to be.
[A sigh, neither contented nor wistful nor sad, just an expression of weight.]
It's the most private thing any of us are ever going to do, the one thing we absolutely have to do alone, and nobody ever wants to talk about it. I can't make the process joyful, but I can make it... better.
[Some days it feels like what she was made for. Some days are harder. Either way she's grateful.
A furrow creases her brow then smooths away, chased by a smile.]
There's more laughter than you might expect.