I’m awake and I don’t want to be. It’s too dark to be near dawn. I curl on my side, drawing the blankets over my shoulders, hunkering down in the comfort of more sleep to come. But sleep doesn’t come.
I squint my eyes to focus on the red digital numbers. Three o’clock a.m. Yesterday has slipped away. Today has arrived, whether I’m ready or not. And I’m not. I draw a sputtered breath. You left the earth four years ago on this day.
Deafening silence with bony fingers that pull back the blanket and beckon me to the window. As if on some cosmic cue, snow begins to fall. Graceful, tiny white glints like feathers float to the ground without a sound, much like the way your sweet spirit left your broken body.
Breathless silence once Ebb and Flow now come full circle.
I spoke to you even though I knew you were gone. I covered your feet that peeked out from beneath the sheet. Lovely feet that carried good news every place they traversed. Oh, the many places those feet took you and often times me too. And now they walk no more, at least on this side of heaven.
Consuming silence of completion.
And yet, this day is the day you were freed from the confines of carnality in all its fragility. I imagine you standing whole before the Father. The striving has ceased. The race is done. The unanswered questions obliterated.
Peaceful silence, swaddled in a cocoon breaking way the metamorphosis of awe, contentment, and love.
A clearing in the sky sends a beam of moonlight through the blinds, a laser into the deep chasm of my soul wound—only moments ago palpable, now cauterized.
Placid silence, invisible like a breeze, but the effects of release take to flight and soar.