I wrote this on Sunday in response to a writing prompt. It has stuck with me all week and I decided to submit it as my Bigger Picture Moment.
Click, click, click.
Heels tapping out a staccoto rhythm on the tile floor in the hall.
Moving away from us now, taking hope with them.
Each click of those sharp heels digging a little deeper as they stomp hope into the ground.
What good are words?
They change nothing.
We are stunned.
We need to shut down our senses, narrow our focus in order to understand.
For the longest while we sit in silence.
Drip, drip, drip.
Water collects into a bead at the end of the faucet.
It grows until finally it lets go tumbling down, down into the drain.
The sound, barely audible shocks me out of the numb and foggy place I have gone in my brain.
It brings me back into the room, back into pain.
And still I sit frozen in my place.
Hope is lost.
We make the best of the time we have.
I hear stories of his boyhood half way round the world.
He asks me if I can see the people in the room with us.
I can not.
The way to tell the living from the dead in this gauzy point between two worlds is to let your gaze travel down,
Run down the leg to the floor.
The living have feet, the spirits have no need of them.
He shares so many glimpses that only a person looking through the thin veil can see.
There is no need for fear I can tell from his voice.
When the end finally comes he stretches out his arms and calls out.
Someone is waiting.
He is not alone, not abandoned.
He is found.
Katie at The Lightning and the Lightning Bug offered the prompt “Lost and Found”. The mere suggestion brought on a flood of memories of the experience some years back of being with my brother-in-law as he dealt with cancer and the medical community at the end of his life. It is never easy to lose someone, but there is so much to be found in those moments and stories shared as this life ends. It was my privilege to be with Al as much as I got to be.