Death is a lonely place

The more time passes, the more intimate death feels. A place where only I reside, the place where you no longer live. I cease to exist in this place without you. I; now survive here. A place where only I see the value of your life, it’s a deeply lonely existence here. Your impact is evident in my being, or more so my absence. I stand here in this vacant lot that once housed your existence. I stand here in this vacant space, as tears run down my face.

Tears that are uncontrollable, the kind that runs like a river, the tears that water the spaces in my soul that are now parched by your leaving. These tears are my cleansing ritual that reminds me of a love I never understood until this very moment. The constant flowing of yearning releasing through my eyes, as I stand here in this vacant space in time.

I stand here quietly sobbing, waiting for the mourning to end, waiting for the darkness to pass. The only thing passing me by is time. The constant progression of becoming more and doing more. Fatigue setting in as I beg for time to slow down, to give me a moment, just to stand here a little longer. Here, where your body lies lifeless before my eyes. I desperately need one more moment, to take in your face, your scent, the softness of your skin, the touch of your hands in mine and the sound of your voice. All I need is the time to mourn you as you deserve to be mourned. Yet, I remain here standing in this vacant space looking over your grave as time keeps moving. Hoping that I could have more time here with you.

Death is a lonely place, where no one waits for you. A place where no one understands the immense loss you have had. A place where words are meaningless, where quiet whimpering on the bus to work holds your hand. A place where whispers for strength carry you home to yourself. An isolated moment in life, where you move through each day with a void in your being that remains. A wound that’s incapable of healing it seems, the constant reminder that someone has left your world. Something so vast, words are unable to give utterance to bring sense to this secret aching you mask by smiling to avoid pity from others. 

The only place where your tears are like cleansing rivers flowing from your being. The bathing ritual as time keeps moving on. The only companion to this lonely place, the salted waters of your spirit, washing over your soul as your tenderness shows. A reminder that your loved one’s life mattered. Death remains a lonely place, where your attempts to show up for the world remain futile in the face of your lament. No pep talk or resilience can stand here, grief wants to be heard. And so, death whispers in your ear to come and lie down. You take a lie down in the place where tears are your companion, until you soften your being and your body to surrender to your anguish. Here you find that loss is inevitable and that grief wants to be heard. Death is the lonely place of fellowship with your tears.