You died.

My cousin died in a car crash over the weekend. I had only just gotten the chance to know him. And now he is gone.

The newspaper lay on my doorstep as usual, the news was nothing new.  It was something about mortgage banks going under, war is still as bad as ever, a local story about a woman and her ranch. 

 

And you died.

 

I went to work and did my daily tasks, took a break for a sandwich, and sat alone in my car to catch up on some sleep.  And I was called with the news. 

 

You died. 

 

I picked my kids up from school, spent some time with the mama bird who had returned to her nest, made a lazy dinner of noodles, and lay on the couch to watch a movie with my kids.  My daughter fell asleep in the living room, and I let her stay where she was sleeping rather than disturb her by leading her to her bed.  I put my son to bed after his teeth were fresh and clean, and gave him a kiss and a promise of love. 

 

And you died. 

 

I washed some dishes halfheartedly and left most of them in the sink for the morning.  I watched the cars go by as I smoked a cigarette we once shared just weeks ago.  And I thought about how fragile life really is, how it can stop for one in an instant while the rest of the world just keeps passing by as if nothing has happened.  Somewhere out there a girl has just watched her heart stop in front of her, her world standing still the moment your life ended.  And my life is still going in a whirlwind of sorts, but in this moment I am in a freezeframe, pausing to remember the brief instant you made a dent in my world.  Everything is still moving.  My kids will wake in the morning wanting to know what is for breakfast.  Another day of work will come and go.  The daily dance of what’s for dinner will be performed.  Night will become day and day will become night.  The baby birds will hatch and grow and leave their mother behind as they venture into the world.  And you will remain forever 26, a memory of smiles and laughter, a beat in the rhythm of the song we dance to.  You will remain frozen in time.

 

You died.

Reviews

[John Arthur]

Something similar happened to me years ago, so I can relate to what you are feeling. This was a good piece of writing, very melancholy. But that's not surprising.

[chloe cruz]

I'm really sorry, about the death. But, I'm sure your cousin would be proud. Be happy, and remember the memories!