That death will happen in a single moment is a thing of inevitability. In half the time it takes us to produce a noise– a laugh, a gasp– life exits us. It leaves us through the lips that have kissed the ones we love, the lips that have contorted themselves to say I love you or I hate you or I want to break up with you or please or thank you. The very lips that have spoken the words that have sustained our livelihood are the same ones that can end it all. The Lips Gave, and the Lips Hath Taketh Away.
She died on February 16, 2016 at 2:30am.
She deserved the best last moments of her life. I hope she laid peacefully on her back, eyes towards the heavens that would soon engulf her. I hope life left her painlessly, noiselessly, breathlessly, silently, like a lover who slips away in the middle of the night,treading on the tips of toes around creaky floorboards so as to avoid disturbing the naïve sleeper, unaware of the abandonment that morning will bring. When life, or love, abandons its host, it leaves destruction in its wake, our memories of those we lost scattered across moments in time like driftwood on a beach after a storm.
We carry the ones we lost into the future through our memories. If our life is a spectrum, with zero being the right here, right now, the ones we lost– and our entire past– are the negative numbers that when added together with our memories of them that we carry into the future, brings them to the right side of zero. They are with us in the right here, right now.
-10 -9 -8 -7 -6 -5 -4 -3 -2 -1 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 1 0
past RH/RN future
Today is 0. Jess died yesterday (-1). But in the right here, right now, there is only empty. It is like dark matter (which has never actually been observed; scientists only know that it is a kind of dark energy that is invisible on the electromagnetic spectrum). I cannot see it. I can only feel it. I know she is here, but darkness surrounds me.