As I type that statement and as I read over these lines I found in a piece I wrote shortly after her death I wonder if this is accurate. I realize that it wasn't so much that she was taken as she knew it was time to go, and she gently left us.
The shallow breath has no force to mist the mirror, it reveals the pale fragile moment before the breath completely ceases to provide the spirit with life.
The chemicals have attempted to destroy the invasion of thieving monsters.
The surgeon had attacked the mass and cut away the poisoned flesh.
The pinpointed burn of the cells with radioactive precision has lessened the strength to carry the remaining portion of what was considered Vicki.
Her name, the original meaning is victorious; this victory is not celebrated with pomp and cheer, this victory only surrenders to a softly spoken peace.
How do those who have loved her, held her, grip her- let her go? How do we release her into darkness when we are assured by her that she herself is embracing the purest of light?
It is all selfish, this refusal to let go. It is all due to our craving for her connection to remain tangible, physical, continuous.
Then, when saying farewell, when gathering to mourn- we see her eyes closed, her skin pale, and her form lifeless, thin and hollow- but her mouth...is that actually a subtle curve of a smile?
No comments:
Post a Comment