For 24 hours I sat and watched a heart. It was a strange thing, to watch the heart of someone who simply could not love you.
We pulled the tubes at about 2pm. My god mother came at 4 pm, and when she left at 7 pm, we pulled the oxygen. From there it is a long and last journey.
Through the long and dark hours of the night, I sat by her bed, holding her hand. She was never alone. If I wasn’t with her, the nurse was. If I felt unequal to the task, alone, frightened, overwhelmed, I could do what she taught me. Dig a bit deeper, square your shoulders and face up to the task before you without flinching and an iron determination to see it done, doing it was well as you possibly can.
Realizing in the dark of the night, when you feel utterly alone, that everything you need is already within you. When you are doing what you know you should, every thing you do is enough. I taught myself that there are things you do on your own, for your own sake. I stayed so that she would not be alone, not because she wanted me, but because I wanted to know I had done it.
I watched her heart. I watched as she stopped breathing, slipping from this world to the next through a door that I did not see open, but was there all the same. It was the easiest and most natural of things. She was here and then she was not.
I find myself praying that the world she is now in is easier. Kinder. Gentler. That there is peace and respite, that it is a world where sorrow and pain are not.
She comes sailing on the wind,
her wings flashing in the sun;
on a journey just begun,
she flies on.
And in the passage of her flight,
her song rings out through the night,
full of laughter, full of light,
she flies on.