Telling more people doesn't dilute pain nor truth, only mystifies it. How do I feel. How do you want me to feel, and why are you never satisfied with my answer? The busyness of a peaceful death adjusts to the living's schedule. The ongoing finality of living. What I'd give for one restful day of oblivion. We leave instructions, but tire of holding space for those who have left. Maybe after I've gone you'll commit to loving me like I asked.
