Truth be told, answers are but questions. Certainty overrated.
The morphine dripped to the sound of the clock. The dying man’s breath, slowed. His wife departed his side years ago and each day lived after had been heavy. His children showered him with smiles, kept him eating, gave him blankets of love, but never satisfied his true desire.
He waited for someone, each chest movement rising, stomach muscles building towards a crescendo, the puffed air rose and tousled his hair. The hospice nurse smoothed the frocks, scented with eucalyptus and tea tree oil wafting towards his nose. The chaplain read from 2 Corinthians 5. Our bodies are tents…
She rushed by car to see him, knowing at any moment life could cease. With each tire revolution, turn of the wheel, the road invited her tears. No such love remained within her. Their relationship had never been ideal and for whatever reason, neither was able to connect.
His daughter roused him from sleep. He only heard her voice. His eyes remained pursed, his lips even tighter as the hospice nurse drove a dropper of Lorazepam, mixed with more pain killer, into his throat.
His breathing ceased the 5th hour of March. He had waited for her to arrive, lest she doubt his love. She never parsed memories to be anything but bitter. Too much pain remained to cry through everything again. Dad had lost strength and she grew wings.
She remained the last one standing, feeling the sun’s warmth on her face. The sky was not so far after all. She lifted her arms and grabbed the sun, stars and moon and took them along for the ride. She never was seen again and the sky remained void forever.