1976 - 2007: Quiescat in Pace

The snow fell, but it didn't matter. I slogged through it. I made it inside. I saw the flowers, they didn't seem pretty enough. And there was this awkward line to endure, but it didn't matter. I stood through it.

When I saw her she reached her arms out to me over the crowd calling "honey," beating me to the endearment. I struggled through the jam of arms and legs and children underfoot, arms outstretched. I held her like I would my sister and stroked her hair, repeating soundlessly, "oh honey."

I didn't know him, but I felt for her, felt for his place in her life. Felt. Felt because some souls are like strings that get tied up and wound around each other for inexplicable reasons, never to be undone, regardless of how infrequently they talk.

My soul and hers are like that; tied together because they are. Because we have mirror perspectives on this mortal circumstance. Because we have wakened from similar dreams. Because, knowing without knowing this was coming, we have already said the right things. And because on this night I am here for her, in this time zone, in this state, when I so easily could have been somewhere else.

The snow fell softer as I left. This time it mattered. It mattered because of him. He loved the outdoors; hated being stuck inside. I was glad I hadn't sent flowers. Instead I gazed at the flocked night, hushed and alive, and took in the black space between the stars and falling sky.

No comments: