On Death

by HelluvaGirl

The thick silence as I enter my home.

Step into the living room, slowly draw the curtains.

And, of course, think of her. 

Alone; finally. I can breathe, erasing my outline, submerging in my feelings. Are there any to mention?

It was a brave life.

How can I say it’s over if I’m still alive, and she’s alive in me?

All the while I was sitting there, at the funeral home, stealthily glancing at the ceiling with a conspiratorial shade of a smile, inarguably sure she was floating up there, smug.

She took away cancer from me. During her last months, she literally rotted alive. My shield. Have I stopped being safe now? Am I truly alone?

Illiterate as I am about funeral manners, I don’t care what time or doing what she died. I can’t help but feel she is there, keeps on being – elsewhere. I don’t think I feel anything at all apart from everything I ever felt for her, which makes it totally unimportant what state or form her being takes at the moment.

I once wrote to someone: If I love, I shall never die.

It is true, and to me, today, death is but words with attributed moods of somebody else.

There’s no such thing as death when you love someone to the point of never mentioning it, the way you don’t mention oxygen that much, or walking. To the point of calling her Mum when she’s really not your mother.

She is, because I am. I just don’t know what else to say.