Dedicated to the grace that may arrive and inform, as death approaches. This, for Deb:
As I arrive, I’m keenly aware of the unknown.
All I’ve heard is that the fight is over, now it is time for you to die.
As I pass over the threshold of your room’s door, I see that since I saw you last, you’ve been graced by death’s touch.
You are thinner, quieter, softer.
As I come nearer, I understand there is not much left to say, or rather, words somehow seem harsh and hyperbolic to a situation so crystal clear.
In stillness, you rest into a transition you’ve been promised since birth.
Finally living out your destiny.
You came here to die and finally, after all this life, you get to.
And though I know it is your birthright to be worked on and graced by the invariably, distinct familiarity of endings,
I can’t help but get caught in the indescribable misery of you leaving.
That, second by second you are disappearing from the seen world,
Transforming into the unseen.
I can feel the stark space that you have taken up in this body on this earth,
And how as you evaporate, the space where you existed hovers, until soon the wind blows through it and new life asks to emerge.
I hold your hand.
I feel how warm my hand is in yours and it reminds me how warm love is.
All I know how to do in this stillness is to touch you.
To pet your hair that has become so soft with time,
To gently massage hands and arms and feet, knowing but barely understanding that soon this body will no longer be on lend.
It’s almost time to give it back, to let it go, to become free.
As you close your eyes I want so badly to ask you where you are going, what you know.
And yet, I know it’s not for me to know yet.
I can see that this is your journey solely designed for you.
That somehow your design is allowing you to empty, get lighter.
And as dying works you,
Tears grip at my heart, at my eyes.
I know that it is my duty to let them fall, to be overwhelmed by this mystery, to praise your life and your death,
All the while, eagerly loving you.
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