January 29, 2014

Coffee or tea for absurdities.

She received the card. I wanted to wish her a bright year and she got it. She let me know five days before my birthday, but I only got her voicemail. I called her two days later and we exchanged gratitudes: I, for her birthday greeting, and she, for my new year wishes. Three days later she died.

You see, it was not  supposed to be like that. It was not even supposed to end like that, not just yet at least. In fact, it was only supposed to be a new start. Those are the kind of thoughts one holds when the New Year rings at least. And if your heart still bleeds...

The New Year felt light, 2014 felt right when it rang. But nobody knew what was coming. Nobody knew the pain she was feeling. How could we have known? We were all caught up with trying to live that we failed to pause to see who was dying, who had been dying... Though everyone knew all along: she was the elephant in the room. Yet no one could stop her insides from bleeding... How do you stop a slow death wish that had been at work for a while?

I told her to let me know as soon as she was ready to go... We could have coffee outside for a change. (Or tea. But how she loved her coffee; it was what she often offered me.) Then we could torture the guys with a few rounds of scrabble since it bored them to death. It was a nice little plan for when it got a warmer because it was still frigid here, and she did not like to be out in the cold like that. It was a simple invitation, not an imposition, so she would not feel the pressure of being put on the spot, that if she declined again like the hundred times before, she would not be eaten up by the dreadful twins...

Oh, what funny business guilt and shame operate. They probably kill more people at a faster rate since they like to hang about always hungry. But who knows, the folks that have passed on are probably the ones alive, whereas we, still stuck here on earth, might be the ones who are virtually dead. Or manipulated at least. Like marionettes or guinea pigs. We are born only to die in the end. Sounds familiar? But we are forced-fed first... And forced to sleep at night when we should really be awake. I never understood it. And if we overeat or oversleep we could die even sooner. Whose the grand master of this great, big plan? We can only guess. Yet it is called life, so there is always a flipside. For now, I would have to believe I am alive just to live and maybe extend my stay, then die at a later time. I also have to convince myself that there is an after-life. Another flip. If I don't, why buy into the idea that there might be a chance to ever meet again the people who are gone. Like grandpa... Like her.

The month of her death has proved significant; I will take it as a sign. Or a nudge. In the direction of life I choose to follow. Because it is all I have until I get to the other side, and possibly meet them...and/or the grand designer, if there is a puppeteer... If not, oh well, I would have to flip things again.

I saved her voicemail, by the way. So I can always hear her. The time she was here... The time we had tea. We did have tea, you know, though we both loved our coffee as we exchanged stories...

Still, fuckin people are dropping like flies, and when the punchline ends and the whole thing blows over, it might just be a damnable joke from a sick, bored king... If not, then it is a funny thing, this life. Of course, you still have to keep breathing until your time is up. What tiresome absurdity.

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