There is something unknowable, undoable, and completely unattainable in the journey. Even after it is finished, there is still that which remains unknown and undone. And it will remain so until my own journey ends.
Breathe. It is all you can do for now. Breathe.
She can no longer taste the sweet bite of Winter in her lungs, but in its own way that is good. She can no longer see the shimmer of Spring’s iridescent glow on her wild, merry band of flowers, and that too is good.
Her wounded and broken cells no longer groan for relief from the invader. Her bones sigh, then turn to dust, no longer weary from chemistry run amok. Her memories no longer jumble and her words no longer mock her grasping voice, hiding in plain sight.
Now her silver hair, rich and burnished with experience, can rest without movement, absent the gentle flickers of life that recently rolled from center to crown, from center to soles with each lingering breath.
Now her pale hands that moments ago reached out for spirits unknown can settle translucent atop the cream colored comforter she no longer knows is there.
Now she – that spirit that I knew as she – is gone. Our long, often meandering walk through the valley is done.
And I will breathe.