eulogy for the not-yet dead
"Do you have something to wear for a funeral?"
It was her way of telling me that it would be soon, taking care of practicalities
In truth, I already knew
I had stuffed that knowing into a dusty corner at the back of my mind, already full of the socks that lost their sole-mates and forgotten song lyrics
Because my self-preservation is selfish.
She is dying alone, surrounded by people
For months, distant relations have been drifting into our house, staying a few hours or days, paying their respects
They know it will be soon, too.
When I was four, I stayed the night at their house for the first time
She washed my back in the bathtub and cooked the fish grandpa caught
It got sent home in a ziplock with me because I liked fishing and hated fish.
She used to smile and laugh and say things like horticanorkus and bahoony
and tell me that my dad would have to lock me in the closet to keep the boys away when I grew up
Now she doesn't say much of anything.
I've long felt guilty for not spending more time with her
but what little girl wants to watch death march slowly across the faces of those she loves?
And now it seems that she has already died and her body has yet to realize she is gone
If she could, I think she'd ask about my art, my migraines, the boys at college
but she is silent, and I do not know how to fill that space.
She was a volunteer EMT, and now I will be, but we never talked about it
And now we never will.
The disease stole so much of life from her
But it stole her from everyone else.
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