Dear Death,

I wrote this strange little thing last night. Thinking of Death again in a conscious way. I’m not sure what I think of it, but here it is.


Dear Death,

How have you been? It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. I wonder, is it that we’ve just missed each other? Are you there in the crowd but I can’t see you over other people’s heads? Have you just left the places I am entering?

I almost saw you a few weeks ago. You were at the house of the son of some friends. But by the time we went to see them, to sit with them in the wake of their grief, you had already left. I recognized the traces of you in their faces, their words, the way they spoke so matter-of-fact about their grown son and arrangements and their other children and the ways to carry on.

I remember those early days. I know it’s strange, but I yearn for them sometimes.

Your absence has left a particular emptiness in the house. I almost miss you. I had gotten so used to having you around, your presence following me in every room. Sitting across the table from me. There was a certain way I felt when you were here, both comforted and disconcerted.

I really feel like I was just getting to know you when you started to fade. You were away for longer and longer periods, and then you were here so rarely that I barely noticed when you had finally gone.

I think of you often, mostly in the middle of the night, when I get up to pee. I lie back down and wait for my baby to kick so I know you haven’t been to visit while I was out of the room. Oh, Death, this baby is going to be beautiful! You would think so, too, if you were here. But I expect you’ll stay away.

To be honest, it makes me nervous when I don’t know where you are. I worry you’ll drop in on me unexpectedly. Maybe try and call before you come next time. Or write.

I know I’ll see you again sometime. I hope it will be a while longer yet.

Take care,

Burning Eye


© Burning Eye



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