There is no memory that time doesn’t erase, no pain that death doesn’t consume. (Don Quijote, I, XV)

I may be dying.

No, we are all dying from the moment we are born. I am dying. Instead, I should say: My inevitable last breath may become a reality sooner than anticipated.

That’s not accurate: I have been anticipating death since I was 12.

Perhaps: The existential angst that has plagued me since I was 12 may soon cease to be a source of constant reflection and anguish as I will no longer be.

I can’t decide what would make me happier: dying soon or living to ease the the long day’s journey into night of those I love.