The Importance of Being Earnest

"[I]t is very painful for me to be forced to speak the truth. It is the first time in my life that I have ever been reduced to such a painful position, and I am really quite inexperienced in doing anything of the kind." ~ Jack, in The Importance of Being Earnest

The play is something of a comedy wherein the main characters adopt fictitious personae in order to escape burdensome social obligations. In the end of the play, identities are uncovered and the protagonist exclaims an understanding of being himself (Earnest Moncrieff).

In many of the lifestyle circles, there is talk of being transparent, of being honest within the D/s or BDSM or even with yourself. It is not always comfortable. Polite little lies we tell ourselves and others "protect" us from the truth.

I have tried to be bluntly honest here, in some cases here because I cannot bear the painful position of speaking aloud. The topic rolling around in my head is coping with death, specifically in relationship to my astranged sister.

The call came in yesterday that her pacemaker has failed, that she has a weak pulse. That's all the information the company could offer. My sister B and I had talked back in October about the situation, and this really doesn't change anything; we are all waiting for her to die. The fact that the pacemaker has failed is merely withdrawing "life support", which may progress things but the body is an amazing machine and can continue to function for a long time.

B and I talked a little, and she revealed that she had found a contact for the people our sister is staying with. The question was whether to call or not.

On my own, I decided that chasing the rumor mill was useless. I called my astranged sister directly and left a message. I didn't expect she would call back, but she did.

We talked for 40 minutes, mostly about inconsequential but there were some very important things that we were at last able to say to each other. She is at peace with where she is, and her "body keeps waking up every day, so I might as well do something" but when the day comes that she doesn't wake up, it will be a release. I can accept that...from the moment we're born, we start to die. Most of us don't have to face that fact head on, but she has. I grok her exhaustion with the ceaseless fight.

We were able to tell each other that in our own ways, we have tried, desperately tried!, to protect the other. The intent was true, but the results far from perfect. Acknowledging that and accepting that has lightened my heart.

I told her about the forgiveness quote from Oprah, and she paused. "That is something to chew on, isn't it?" she said. Yeah, it really is.

We were able to give each other blessing and well-wishes, and we were able to talk, even laugh, without the anger that has been a background for so many years. In her death, we have been able to realize the importance of being ourselves and not thrusting "burdensome social obligations" on each other. When I hung up, I believe it was my final good-bye; I will not speak with her again in this life.

I have asked for gentle thoughts from my friends, and so many responded instantly. I am grateful that I have so many friends, grateful for the comfort and shared thoughts. There is a sadness, but it is not the soul-wrenching unforgiven pain it was. I am well.