Black pants.

You want to know what death is like?

Well, not your own death, I wouldn’t have the slightest idea what that feels like. But I know what it is like to experience someone else’s death. It is not that romanticized, film directed, climactic scene where you fall to your knees, and three scenes later you’re up again. Well, maybe for some it is, but not most. Death is like this:

  • You are out to coffee with friends when you find get the call that your loved one back home is sick.
  • You call for daily updates, but this is a game you play. It is imaginary because the person cannot really be sick.
  • While studying for finals your parents call to tell you that your loved one “passed away” never “died”.
  • Days later, you’re shopping for black pants.

Black pants.
Seriously. Black pants. That’s what death is like. One minute you’re out for coffee and the next you are buying black pants. I don’t know why this hit me so hard. Black pants. A costume? A sign of mourning? An act of respect? Among all of those things, you want to know what I think they are? They’re a veil, a shadowy film of what took place, a connection to something we can’t really feel. But standing waist high in water doesn’t make you a part of the sea. In fact it would take years and years of decomposing for you to ever become part of the sea.. Feeling death doesn’t take years… Maybe months.

And tonight, I finally feel it.
RIP Grandma Barb. I love you.


One thought on “Black pants.

  1. Amen, sister. Feeling the water with your big toe does NOT make you a swimmer. Still choking back tears for Samantha too. Thank you for reminding me to SWIM.

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