Can we choose the way to rediscover the pleasure of living, without appearing selfish? This is a story about rebirth, but it is also about the uniqueness of love.
Anna Julia is a 33-year-old married young Brazilian woman. Her profession is Civil Eng...
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My last day of life...
Something strange happened tonight, in my dreams, when we were about to touch, a force pulled me away, it seemed very real. I felt intense pain and I could notice the despair in his eyes when he saw me leaving. I woke up scared and with a terrible pressure in my abdomen, my stomach felt like it was sinking as if someone had tied a rope to me and pulled with great force. I couldn't sleep that night.
In the morning, Victor noticed my tired look and asked if I was all right. I didn't have the strength to answer. I didn't want to, after all, what was I going to tell him? That his wife has been dreaming every night for six months about a stranger? It would not be an appropriate conversation, much less a pleasant one. I shrugged my shoulders, made a quick sign with my right hand towards my temples, and used the old excuse, a headache. I was startled when I heard the phone ring, after all, who would call at 7 a.m. to someone's house?
— Hello? — There was certain anguish in my voice.
— Hi Anna, how are you? — It was Bianca, my mother. — Last night I dreamed about you, my daughter. I was worried and would like to know if everything is okay. — she said.
— Hi Mrs. Bianca, good morning. Everything is fine, thank you. Can I call you later? I woke up late and have a meeting at 08:00. — Bad dream? She doesn't know what a bad dream is.
The delay I referred to was a lie, I just wanted to finish the conversation. And there Anna Julia Maia was again lying to the ones she loves. I sighed at the realization. The truth is that I have never been very good at showing affection. Much less in interpersonal relationships. My parents are like that, they raised me like that. No excessive demonstrations of affection and affection.
"The world is for the strong and determined, there is no place for fragility."
Words of my father, Mr. Renato. When you have had a lot of something, and when I say a lot I mean your whole life, you end up accepting it. I took a shower long enough for Victor to leave the house before I did. I had the urge to dress in a way that I hadn't done in a long time. I put on jeans, sneakers, and a loose white blouse, nothing appropriate for my professional position, but who cares, I felt I deserved tranquility today and this tranquility would start with my clothes.
I grabbed my purse, a mug of cappuccino and headed for my car. A Jeep Compass SUV. The distance to the office was about 15 miles, 12 miles only on the highway, this was good, there was always enough time to think and listen to music, one of my great passions. When I turned on the stereo, I realized that I had forgotten my iPod, today I was going to listen to the radio, that was fine. It had been so long since I had done that, maybe it would be fun. Black by Pearl Jam was playing, I like the song. I started to pay attention to the lyrics, I had never really noticed how melancholic they were. The lyrics were a monologue of a man with a broken heart who is remembering his absent lover. A love so strong, pure, even selfless at times.
It was so intense, it reminded me of his face, it reminded me of him, the man who inhabited my dreams and nightmares. As if what we had was intense like that. For the first time in months, I admitted that I was in love. In love with the idea of a love so pure and strong. What did we have? My God! I was losing my sanity. I was thankful that I could fit in an appointment with the therapist on Friday. I decided to change the radio station, maybe some livelier music would distract me a little. The radio remote control didn't work, so I knocked over the rest of the cappuccino on the floor. I looked at the road, it was quiet and with a low flow of cars, so I bent down to reach the mug and it was in this moment of distraction that I lost control of the car, I invaded the other lane and found my destination.
A truck, a Scania. It was the only thing I could see from the angle I could. I couldn't move, I was trapped in the wreckage of the car. I felt no pain, only pressure on the back of my head. The radio kept playing the same music, it was very strange and I was going to die without knowing what it all meant, it wasn't very comforting. In reality, it wasn't very comforting, knowing that I was going to die. I loved my life, even though it had been a bit of a mess lately, I had no intention of leaving it. I hadn't done anything yet, like traveling, getting to know other countries, having children... And my parents? How would they face losing their only daughter? And Victor?
I could hear people crowding around me even though I couldn't see anyone. In the accident, the car overturned on a slope, and access was probably difficult for pedestrians. Another of my fears would come true: I would die alone.
Funny how fast these things happen, you see nothing, feel nothing. Only after a few minutes did she awake, a familiar pain in her abdomen, I couldn't help but compare it to my dreams. I didn't have much time to think when a salty taste flooded my mouth. Salty, hot, and metallic. Soon the liquid began to run and I realized, it was blood. Dark, dense blood. I started to feel thirsty and sweat. Dizziness made itself present it was at this moment that when I looked at the car's dashboard, I noticed that the eternity of thoughts had lasted only 4 minutes.
The music continued to play, then in a split second, he was there with me caressing my face, at last, I was not going to die alone. Death wasn't hard or bad, it was good, definitely easier than living. I closed my eyes and for a moment focused on the melody that seemed very appropriate for the moment. And so, I just slept asleep that I would never wake up from.
One of the thoughts I always had about death was that when my time came I would watch the whole process from the outside as if I were watching a TV show where you see images, but they don't see you. I thought I could say goodbye to people, follow my burial, and then a beautiful, white light would open up for me, after all, I have always been a good person in general. My relatives and loved ones who are gone would come to meet me. I would go on my way in peace, waiting for a definition for the next stage of my soul's existence.
I still think that things can work this way, except that there can be exceptions. I believe that I am one of these exceptions because I have not yet followed my path. I am still on earth, alive if I can classify it that way. At this moment I begin a long road to understanding, a divisor between sanity and madness.
Right now I am Elisabeth, I am 18 years old, and about this transition — or I would say transmutation — into a new life I am beginning to write.
