Sleep on, fly on

I have an eerie feeling my mom is going to pass away around Christmas.

I often wonder what death would be like – not in a suicidal or romantacizing way, but genuine curiosity of having experienced someone talking to you one day and dying in your arms the next.

What was in his head?

I think so much, so constantly, that I can’t even imagine that stopping ever. I try, I try to envision that moment when it all does, but the closest I can get is floating endlessly in space, in the silence.

But even there my thoughts expand rapidly outward. Even in death people carry us with them. My dad has always been with me, for better or worse. I have 3 voice-mails from him on my phone. Calls from a ghost. The information is there. It doesn’t get destroyed. Even in a blackmore information doesn’t get destroyed completely. It gets scrambled up like memories or eggs.

He said “it might be awhile before we get to talk again”

And it’s been one of the few truths anyone has ever spoken to me.

The again part is what haunts me most though.

Floating endlessly in space or nothingness.

I will come back for everyone.