It’s An Adventure
They breathe a sigh of relief when I say that he’s down for his afternoon nap. Just like a baby. They also know that this means that I won’t be leaving right away. I have to wait to say good-bye. Anytime could be the last time.
I go and sit in the yard. On the grass with my skirt hiked high so the leaves stab my soft thigh flesh. I must feel alive.
We decide that I will go after dinner. We make pasta and watch the news. The car is packed. Lingering. I hug the brother. I hug the boyfriend. I hug the wife. We are all crowded into the bedroom and I turn to my best friend. Every time I leave here I think it is for the last time. He sarts to cry. It’s becoming that, crying. He wants to talk alone. He is afraid of dying. He is afraid to be alone. He is afraid of the nothingness. I try to hug him but it is hard to hug a sack of bones. His skin hurts. He tries to kiss me. I tell him how beautiful it will be when he leaves his body – no more pain. I want him to believe that. Life cannot stop in a breathe, only the body stops. Life must go on, somewhere. It’s an adventure, this dying thing.