A recollection of my finitude

I wonder when it first dawned on me that one day I will not be here anymore.

Was it when I was 12, roller-skating, back in my hometown? Afraid to fall or be thrown to the ground, always afraid to hurt myself beyond repair. Dreading the pain, my fists clenched, gliding on the edges of the rink.

Or was it at 18, when I received a (love) letter from a girl. I did not yet understand my desires, but I decided to confront them, because I would rather err than be a coward. Then, one day, stuck in a traffic jam at dusk, I looked out the car window and wished I was an object: a window frame, a doorknob, a ring of keys. Overcome by anxiety, I began to envy inanimate beings. Suddenly, I thought: "you too will pass, don´t rush to the end". I saw that girl for three months.

Then, my first patient died, when I was 23 or 24. It was very sudden, I was in medical school, I took it to therapy. That patient looked very weak the last day I saw her, and when I entered the room the day after and bumped into her rolled up mattress, I thought she was gone for a scan. A nurse told me she had died. I went back home and felt relief it hadn´t been my turn to pass away. I was still alienated from death.

But now, this poem by Dylan Thomas: don´t go gentle into that good night. It made me uncomfortable, for I do want to go gentle into that good night. No falls, no confrontations, no surprises. I disagreed with this poem. I took sides on this matter. I am not the same person anymore.