November Thoughts

Eva is dying. The journey begins first with lethargy and then wordlessness. The mouth moves to speak and nothing comes. Still, if it could, the memory of the thought is lost at the tongue. After all this life, what comes next? Maybe her journey--102 years strong--is just now beginning? Maybe death is life.

The nights come sooner on such an occasion. At beckon call, we hurry, with empathy and adoration, as if all the other days she were not dying, somehow.

To lift ones head to see, one may begin to understand what a solitary process dying is and how the soon to be departed will sometimes cleave to the living, not so much for hope, but as an iceberg, in the middle of the Atlantic, post-Titanic. The end will come, but we will rest here in the meantime, holding on for dear life.

I cannot escape these feelings, today. Although, I am happy. I cannot escape these feelings because clinging to an iceberg seems to be the modus operandi. Holding latitude, there is a good chance it will never melt, and we will never have to change. Never have to change, and still...death comes.