Tales of an Unremarkable Girl

A kinder word

I met death when I was only seven years old. I didn't quite understand what it meant, only that I would never see them again.

I don't remember how old he was, though he wasn't even a year old yet. I remember hearing my mother talking on the phone, sitting on the couch and having tears well up though I wasn't really sure why.

I don't remember my nephew, all I remember is his casket. It was so small and so was he. I remember the pepsi bottle of ice tea that my dad placed beside him, I remember how much he loved it.

But I didn't understand it. All that I knew was that he wasn't coming back. That we would never see him again.

The second time I met death, I was nine years old and this time I understood it better. I understood that it meant so much more than them leaving and not coming back.

I remember standing around the hospital bed, listening to my grandpa say goodbye to the love of his life. I could never get his words out of my head.

"I'm glad it's you, so you don't have to be the one to suffer here,"

It was the first time I ever saw my father cry and the last time as well. Her skin was cold, and it scared me.

Death scared me. It didn't seem normal, or natural even though I knew logically that it was.

I became more acquainted with Death the older I became, the more people and loved ones I lost.

I stopped fearing him when I could finally look him in the eyes.

When I could finally say it without hesitating, without trying to find a kinder word.

I don't pretend to understand him anymore, I don't think anyone really could understand him or why he does what he does.

Why he takes who he takes.

I saw him just last year, lurking in the hallway of the nursing home when I went to see my great aunt. He waited until we were gone to take her.

To release her from her suffering, from a mind that played tricks on her and body that would no longer work.

I know I will see him again, maybe soon or maybe in a couple years. But I will see him again. We all do eventually.