the beginning

            He never understood that she kept him anchored to the world until she was gone.
            It was a frigid Thursday evening in January with soft snowflakes falling as she took her last breath.  The last few days had been a sharp decline. On Monday she talked about the future with her son and, as she’d always been able to do, she consoled him. After their talk, he felt that maybe there existed a future bright, in which the both of them could grow and smile and continue being there for each other. Tuesday was when the social worker showed up to talk them through this stage of grieving, whatever it was, and he released the iota of hope that she’d imparted to him, and it drifted away and voided itself of their presence. Wednesday he never left her bedside. He wasn’t sure what word to attach to the situation, but she seemed to be quite delirious, talking, moaning about those close to them who’d been leaving this world in the last few years. Thursday was silent.  She seemed to be resting peacefully until sometime in the dark of the evening, she opened her eyes and looked up at him, one tear escaping the corner of her right eye, and she was gone. He just felt it.
            His dad removed himself from the dying process. Later he’d overhear him talking to other people, saying things like, “I just couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t watch her die. It hurt too bad.” He wouldn’t let the angry beast escape him in front of those who deemed their presence obligatory. But he wanted to yell at his dad and ask him how the fuck he thought she felt when the only way she could avoid death was to die.
            So after she’d gone, he worked his way through the checklist, calling the right folks in the right order. The Hospice nurse would be there to declare her dead and do the things necessary when this happens in the home. The family would all be coming in to see her in her home one last time, after they’d barely been there in the months since her diagnosis. It’s just what you do had nothing on him, because he didn’t consume artificiality.
            He simply retreated once the first one walked through the front door without knocking (Isn’tknocking something you just do?) because he’d always weathered these kinds of storms with her and that wouldn’t be possible anymore.  People had always overwhelmed him with all their unspoken messages of want, and he’d been trained to meet the needs ofeveryone. He just couldn’t do that now, and maybe never again.
            His dad had her body removed to a funeral home he’d never have chosen because the people there were rude to him when his mom’s sister was there. And the next morning, he and his father, along with relatives who insisted on being there to support them in their hour of need, trekked to the funeral home to make arrangements he wanted to makehimself. He knew what she’d want, because they’d had the type of relationship where knowing what the other wants without it being delivered in an obvious way, like talking to each other, was protocol. He didn’t need the extra bother of their presence. His dad was enough.