A Long Friday

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Thursday Night. 
 
 
It isn’t an easy, silent slumber.
There is a beckoning. A call that must be answered. Grabbing at the air by handfuls, staring off into the colorless void. And then suddenly trying desperately to lift your tiny frame from that bed. ” Hello? ” you cry out …
 
 
I don’t want to alter what’s happening. I’ve promised myself only to help keep you safe and hold your hand and remind you of beautiful things. You’re squinting now. What do you see ?
 
 
Your eyes are flashing open tonight and you’re looking right past me. It’s a feeling hard to explain, but nothing I can take personal. Earlier I asked if you wanted me to stay and you said yes. I told you I knew you would do the same for me and in your raspy voice, you said “I would do the same for you”.
 
14 days with little food or water. The secretions are trapped in your throat, rattling in your chest. I see your toes twitching under the blanket. I’ll never know where you are right now. These are the paths we travel alone. You on yours, me on a separate one.
 
 
I’m so tired. I try to rest but I know I am called upon to be a witness to this night. To be with you as you move into a quieter state. They say “active dying” happens in the last three days. I am seeing the signs and I am hoping and praying that when the moment arrives you will settle into it and let it wrap you like a blanket.
 
 
It has been a hard night. You have earned a peaceful day. I already miss your stories, and I am filled with regret that I could not give to you the one thing you asked of me: to get you out of here. I’m afraid these last few steps are yours alone. I only want you to know it’s okay to let go.
 
 
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Fast forward to Friday night. 
 
Driving in tonight I could see the white of clouds against a dark sky.  Encouraging ! It has been a long time since we have seen any meaningful clearing. Perhaps the rain will end after all and we will see sunshine soon.
 
 
You slept more tonight. Deeper it seemed. You are struggling to talk through the gurgling but you slept. I’m grateful for that one small thing. I can’t know what’s happening in these moments, either. I hope you are leaning into the light and gravity is pulling you to the gate.
 
 
Beyond the gate it’s beautiful. George has it flung wide open to meet you. He is followed by a dozen dogs and he is just beaming ♡
 
 
 
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