Gone for Good?

A Story by Emmy

Day after death...
As I sit tonight next to your beautifully carved, wooden casket, telling myself I'm dreaming, I watch the sun sink, spreading breathtaking pinks, oranges, yellows, and blues across the sky, and wonder how long it is until the sun sinks on my ephemeral life also. After all, I can already feel everything fading, slowly becoming unclear and muddled. I can't help but think of you, how accommodating you have been. Everything I could have ever wanted, you have gone out of your way to get. Every lost memory, you have helped me to obtain again. I know I couldn't have made it this long without your graciousness. That's why it is so excruciating to look down into your dull, gray eyes and be forced to face the fact that you are gone, and I will not be able to see you until I come to live eternally with you in heaven. And so I wonder now how long. I have seen death. It waits to claim me. It waits at my front door. Will it be today, tomorrow, or not for years to come? Will I know it, feel it slowly stealing my life away, or will it be a complete, utter surprise? I feel we all wonder this as we start to grow old. We start to count the days until life fades away into nothingness...

3 days after death...
Why does death have to be so sudden? One moment we were gazing lovingly into each other's wrinkled, sparking eyes, and the next instance you were on the ground, not breathing, clutching your chest. Death does unimaginable, terrible things to some. I have seen it, even through my old, half blind eyes. I can not accept the fact that you are gone. I keep waking up and walking over to your room, only right down the hall from mine (is it just me or is this nursing home small?), and expecting to see you. I walk right in, without thinking. Only last night I walked in on a family praying with a great grandmother. Even worse, after many desperate attempts to get me to believe you're dead (I refuted every one of them), they finally gave up and called the nurse. The poor nurse kindly explained to them that I was having health problems and memory issues (which, of course, I did not believe either). The family nodded and gave me sad and sympathetic glances. I could hardly refrain from running out in tears, because it was then it all hit me. It was like running into a wall, only worse. Even currently I'm having trouble believing you have actually gone to be with The Lord. As I commented before, death can be so sudden. But I believe we all have to move on, just like I'm having to, no matter how impossibly devastating and painful. Though it is impossible to fully assimilate death, I do believe we learn from it.

1 year after death...
I have not written. I try to pick up the pencil, but I just can not bring myself to do it. I write now because I must. I just feel a need to. The children seem to have forgotten you. They still come to visit me occasionally, but not near as often as before, and their eyes have lost the dull, mournful look that I still, and will forever, entail. I dream of you every night, I see your handsome face, and long to hold your hand just one last time. I fear that I will soon. I am not well. I can feel myself rotting, and I can feel cancer in my old, broken body. I'm still just waiting. Waiting. Waiting. When will that harrowing day come? I apologize, but in need to cut this letter short. I'm not feeling well. I think I am going to call the nurse and children now. This may be my last time to write. Goodbye. See you soon.

~Hello grandfather. This is Maria. First, I hope you did not forget today is my birthday! I am turning 9! But now for the important part, the thing I wanted to tell you. Aunt Jewel tells me Mother died from cancer. I miss her, but she must be with you now. I pray over you two every night,and I hope you are smiling with God in heaven. I love you! I know shall see you someday!

© 2014 Emmy

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Reviews

Cryingkate

Oh Emmmmmmyyyyy,
Oh how I missed reading your stories.
I still don't like reading stories, I can't hold onto thoughts that long , but you captivate me every time I come to visit one of your stories.
You know just what to say how to say it and details that wrap around my head and transport me into them.