I Died Today

I died today. It was unexpected, yet not. I had asked God to take me before, but never thought of sinning myself. Two decades of pain and gnarled joints, broken back, enough medicines to fill three lifetimes, and all their glorious side-effects that have done what they are wont to do: deaden, decay, destroy. My minds eye sees the carnage hidden to those outside my skin. I’ve not seen my silver anniversary. Nor will I. I no longer feel the pulsing burn in my hips, the relentless ball of deep hot heat in my back. The backs of my hands don’t hover with the burn of the path seared through my veins. My deadweight shoulders hang loose and free. I can close my fingers into a fist for the first time in a long time. I try it again, in wonder. My ankles, only attached by the barest of strings in a hollow ball encasing have given up the ghost. Knees that played a bone symphony of clicking, burning, buckling from the inside out now rest in peace. No more nausea and throwing up to plague my stomach. There are no more doctor waiting rooms, needles, transfusions, blood work and ruder nurses that filled my sick time off work. Born with no ears, today I hear things never heard before. What a wonderful world. In a holding pattern, I wait. My mother cries, my father sniffles, his white handkerchief bunched, quickly hidden in the pocket, lest someone see. My twin breathes deep, and accepts life as life deals. The others weep at the tears of others, not of their own hurt. The oldest and the youngest of their kids are bewildered – some from the vagrancies of life, some from the mysteries inherent in a young life. The line curls around Chambers’ Funeral Home. Spring requires only a sports coat, or less, for those too full of their own coolness. Police direct traffic and everyone comments, “such a shame, such a young man, the prime of his life.” Bah! My life was a four letter word, and it is not obscene. At least the word is not; pain. Thanks to those drugs I have very few memories. I do not recall not feeling pain. I do not recall. In line they come in honor, for the son, or the father, is not for me to know. The view is cold from here. I see the coffin door close over me again, darkness descends. It repeats. All have gone home, to their lives, their prayers, their stories amidst the march of time. The lid reopens. Sunlight, prayers, tears, and the lid closes over me for the last time. A dark roll, a dark ride. Little Chambers funeral flags snap on parade through the city. Cars wait, unaware of more than the procession before them. Then, nephews pull me out; hoist me on their shoulders, and up the steps. Up the steps, and into the house of God. There are many here, tho most of my father’s age, or generation. Warmth comes again, as I take the hand of God. I see auld friends, and I smile. Names that go back two score years have come to say the final goodbye. They will drink of me again, when memories trigger. But this is goodbye, I know this. How quickly my ripple dies has always scarred me. Soon it will be of no bother at all. Yet. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…” the priest intones. He married me, consoled me when I divorced, smiled, hugged me and shook my hand whenever we met. He cries. The utter waste that was my life. There is no crying in heaven, and only tears in Hell. Don’t let go God. There is no God in hell, don’t let go. I will go before you always. Holy water splashes across the lid. My niece talks between grasping breaths. Nephews raise me up, on their shoulders again, and walk me out, push me in, pull me out, walk me to my grave. The good Father intones once more. Each takes a red red rose from my coffin, before they drift, some to a meal, some to resume their lives once more. I think I’m alone now. Then, I am cranked down into my resting place. Shovel by shovel, the cold earth thumps atop me, becoming more muffled, till once again I return to a silent world. Finality. The weight of the world settles around me.

I am no more.