betty
on grief and the personification of blue as the warmest color
You are one of those souls.
Gracing the planet with your vibrance, a shimmering meteor visiting the darkened sky for a few brilliant moments. The atmosphere is cruel and you fell apart in it, but you left treasures behind.
You were in my life for so brief a time, yet you are etched in my memory, as though a carving on the walls of my psyche. Permanent.
I saw how you treated others and how you impacted them. I risk writing a cliche, only because it’s the unadulterated truth—you lit up the room you walked in.
Your laugh was infectious. Entering your orbit meant becoming gravitationally anchored in your joy, your lust for life.
You were the sweetest human being I’d ever met. If angels on earth exist, you were one of them. You were kind to just short of a fault, selfless. You’re deceptively strong—your gentle spirit did not cost you the convictions of a powerful woman.
You were a little sister to my soulmate. Watching you two together soothed my own emotional aches. I know that my wife adores you always. I know that you are as deeply a part of her being as you were with every soul you touched.
I know that a part of her died when you left this world.
I hate it when people say stupid things about death. Things like “God has a plan and this is part of it, even if we don’t understand” or “She’s in a better place now.”
Your earthly body hurting the way that it did was not part of any divine plan. No god worth worshipping would make that your story. You aren’t in a better place. You’re dead. Your sweet body is in a box in the ground.
I know you aren’t trapped there. That box can’t hold you, cheeky lady. We feel you sometimes, stopping by for tea and a chat. You sit in the back seat when we’re on scenic drives. The seatbelt light dings and we stop to make sure you’re buckled in safely.
You visit us in the body of a mourning dove, gently leading us into the new day. Or the deep blue blossoms in the desert lavender along the sidewalk. You whisper in the hot July breeze while I stare up at the vibrant blue sky. It is most beautiful after the rain.
When we visit you, we make sure your stone is washed clean and there are flowers to welcome you in after a long day. It’s usually been raining, storming, the clouds angry and weeping. But when we arrive, find your street, park and walk to your stone, suddenly the sky opens up. The blue is brilliant, the sun is warm and bright. You’ve welcomed us with a smile each time we visit.
I don’t know if the places you visit elsewhere are beautiful. I don’t know if there are better places where you’ve gone. I hope that, at least some of them, are better than where I am right now.
But even if they aren’t, even it the places beyond are just as scary as this earth, I know that you’re making them all more beautiful simply by being there. What a fucking privilege for those other souls to know you now, to be graced with your presence. What a fucking privilege it was for us to know you when you were here.
One day, I’ll come see those Beyond places too.
Until then, please keep visiting.
I love you.
-M
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