Maybe this is just a journal entry

I once worked very briefly as a translator, facilitating a meeting between the New York Times and Le Monde.  Le Monde wanted to understand an aspect of the NYT's classified sections.   It was fun and interesting.  Translating words and tone is rather academic, you either understand what is being communicated or you don't.  Translating culture, sensitivity, feeling, and the history of an idea is more nuanced.  

I have a pet peeve about French movie titles.  I find that they are so often translated in a way that completely misses the point of the movie.   The worst recent offender was the French movie "Peaceful" which was the title of a movie about the end of life of a young man abruptly diagnosed with Stage 4 pancreatic cancer.   It was a movie about a slice of this character's life, that happened to be his final slice.   The fact that he left the world resigned and too weak to fight did not necessarily make his end "peaceful."  The literal translation of the French title would have been 'In his Lifetime.'

I did not watch this movie as a great exercise in masochism.  I neither needed nor wanted to cry that particular day.  What I was very interested in seeing was if, or how, the main character (played by Benoit Magimel) portrayed a sense of disconnect from reality and how long that disconnect lasted.  Would he react to his diagnosis or his new life with a distance from reality necessary to help keep the deep pain and fear away?  I wondered if he could create a softer, kinder, less threatening universe in which to inhabit.  I wondered what he would have to do to keep himself there.   I find that the French dare express emotions that Americans prefer to keep private and I have always cherished this aspect of French culture.  I was very curious to see how the French director portrayed the extreme feelings of a terrible diagnosis and whether that caused one to live in an alternate universe. 

The abrupt end of the character's life magnified his unfulfilled dreams, frayed relationships and casualties of a life that was hardly his own.   His end was tragic. Not peaceful.  His mother had controlled so much of his life that he never knew his own son because she decided it was to be that way.  He never mended fences with his son's mother.  He had never realized himself in a career.  

Magimel's character suspended reality until he entered the morphine stage.  He seemed to return to 'the real world' for only minutes at a time to face his disappointments, failures and regrets.  Thankfully he was maybe awake only long enough to feel as if it was all just a bad dream. 

I watched this because I had a terrible time dealing with a friend's similar diagnosis.   I wanted to understand what world she was living in, and whether it was raw and real and excruciating or if she could take a break and believe that it was not happening.  We spoke every few weeks as friends and fellow cancer patients and shared updates on family, treatments, hats and foods that we enjoyed eating.  I could feel that things were getting difficult for her a few weeks ago.  

I was on a call two Tuesdays ago and my friend texted me "do you have just a few minutes to talk?"  I called her back right away.  She started to tell me how important our friendship was to her and her voice started to crack when I felt a cold hard boot kick me in the stomach.  She is calling me to say goodbye.  Expletive.  Expletive.  Expletive.  

This person made the world so much better for children who 'had no chance,'  to young children churned through the penal system before they were old enough to understand the depth of the consequences that their transgressions caused on their own lives.  She worked to bring some type of peace and stability to their chaotic lives.  She devoted her energy and her great mind to helping people who started life without hope, luck or proper parenting.  She was a beautiful person.   I called her about 10 days ago and her sister picked up.  I commented on how surreal her situation felt to me; "my sister just said the exact same thing to me this morning, how everything felt so surreal to her."  

My friend passed away the next morning.  The sadness felt deep and terrifying and heartbreaking.  As I told her and I repeat here, she did her part by making the world so peaceful and so much better for so many others.  Who was going to help those people now?

She created hope where there was none. 

Sometimes I close my eyes and imagine that I am lying in a boat on a silent lake.   Other times I dive deeply into a work of fiction and live as a hostage in a ballroom, an opera attendee, a beekeeper or a horserace spectator.  Inside my apartment, alone, I am invisible.  No one can see my short hair, my sad eyes, so they don't really exist.  There is a surreal space that we can all inhabit if the reality of life gets to be too painful.  Not social media or any form of electronic escapism; not dulling life with substances.  

Just drifting away for a little bit. 

Sending peace and love and warmth.