Wednesday, August 5, 2009

What Were You Thinking?

On another plane. Leaving Erika, on my way to Mark, Nancy, Jennifer. Crying again. Thinking of you. AGAIN.

Thinking of your last minutes. Minute maybe, or even less. How long? From when he hit you to when you died. Not long, I know, but exactly how long I’ll never know.

What did you think? Lots of things, really fast, or nothing at all? Did you only feel? Were you scared? Or sad? Or pissed? Or maybe you were just reacting – trying to swerve, to survive, to avoid the impact.

If you could think, who did you think of? All of us? Your friends, your Mom, your Dad, Codie, Matt and Erika, me? Did you have time for us all? If it’s true that your life flashes before you, then it was all of us. If not, who did you choose? Was it me? You have picked me so many times. In the basement of Howard Johnson’s, on the edge of Niagara Falls, in the Gates Town Hall, in the early years when it was so hard to learn to live together and survive, all the times we argued or I hurt you. Every time you had a choice – should I pick her? Every time, you did. Was it me this time? If so, what did you think? I love her so much? She loves me so much? Is there a difference, or are they both really the same thought?

Did you see “the light?” Did it call you? If so, why did you go? Why did you go why did you go why did you go? I’m not mad at you (yet – all the books say I will be someday) I just want to know why you went. Did you want to? I mean if you saw the light. I know you didn’t want to if there was nothing compelling you, but people say that when you see it you want to go. I want you to have seen it, because it might mean there is something or someplace good waiting for you, somewhere that is happy to be. But if there was, why did you choose it over us all? Over me? When you have always picked me before? Or did you fight, and you lost? I only wanted you to fight if you won. Otherwise it means your last moments were not peaceful and easy.

I still choose you. To remember, to wish for, to miss, to love, to be grateful for, to laugh about. Someday when I die, if I get to choose, I will pick you to think about. And hopefully to go to. I hope there’s a kiss chair there.

1 comment:

  1. I feel the same as you. Did he try to speak out to me? Did he think of me and the girls? Did he fight? Was he in pain? I think of all of these things too. There are no answers, unfortunately. I like to think of him fighting for us, but only losing in the end. Hugs to you!

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