I was lifted from my death bed and returned to the living. Now I find some portions of my self didn't come with me. I had been waiting for some kind of epiphany or profound transformation but it hasn't materialized. Instead I am somewhat aware of gaps where some part of me once lived. It isn't an easy process to identify. Much like a thought that is lost to memory. In some ways I am vaguely aware of "something" being missing. In other ways, I am changed which points toward something being altered or simply removed. My impulse of late is not to look for these missing nodes, but to simply leave them behind on the funeral pyre that I was lifted from.
'For we are mistaken when we look forward to death; the major portion of death has already passed. Whatever years be behind us are in death's hands.' Seneca