What is more important: how you say goodbye to someone in their final hours, or how you have loved them all your lives?
My last visit, only two weeks ago, was rushed and inconsequential. Jesse refused to come into the house until my Aunt removed the oxygen tube from her nose. Annie clung to me and refused to give even a smile. We spoke of nothing important. I said a quick goodbye, lips brushing her parchment cheek.
Goodbyes are so hard, but necessary before any meaningful journey. And at this juncture, it is two, not one, who must travel a new road. Aunt Lynn will go to the place where creative souls who lead good lives go, and I will see her there one day. And I will begin a journey of my own, which is the path that leads away from her.
If tomorrow morning the sky falls,
I will have clouds for breakfast.
If my heart catches in my throat at the word "goodbye"
I will ask a bird how she sings.
If I am afraid of the dark
I will remember the night rainbow.