He Gave to Him

It’s a crimson tin bell with a small loop of striped yarn at the top, used for hanging on your Christmas tree, of course. You roll it in your fingers, feeling its cold, hard surface, just to feel his presence one last time. Placing it on the top of the oak, which has been carved and stained beautifully, just for him, you step back as they lower him down. Then the dirt begins to be pushed over him, and you can no longer see the bell. His bell-the last thing you had left of him, although you couldn’t tell much about it, only that it was given to him as a young child from a distant aunt. The soil keeps crumbling down over him, and suddenly you think to yourself where he went. His body is right there, just under that pile of dirt, inside the oak coffin you chose for him-the last, and hardest choice you had to ever make for him. If his body is there, but he isn’t, then where is he? Is he still in your apartment? Or perhaps his car? Is he up in heaven where everyone thinks is such a better place? No one knows where people go, they just say they aren’t here anymore, and move on. There, it’s done. He’s buried now. Your last goodbyes are said through thoughts, and as everyone begins to leave, so do you, crunching through the snow, over the small hill, to your car.

You thank yourself now, for parking away from everyone else, as your knees become too weak to stand, and breath isn’t coming to you now. You lean against the driver’s door, but your body gives way and soon you’re kneeling in the brittle snow, propping your shoulder against the car. You let it all go; no one can see you now anyways. Tears come now, not that they hadn’t before, and you think this is the pain, but soon revoke that thought, realizing that the pain was four nights ago when he died. This right now is simply the after effect. Another thought comes, one that many that have been in your position think, “This is what it feels like to lose someone”. No, shaking your head, this is what it feels like to lose the one. Breath comes back, slowly, to your lungs, but soon recedes as you think of that bell, and realize how much better you would feel if you could just hold it in your hands again. But what can you do now? Dig up his grave for a shitty little Christmas ornament? No, it’s better it be with him, and that you move on.

It’s beginning to snow again, light fluffy flakes. The tears have stopped for the most part, and you feel strong enough to get into your car, and drive. After climbing into the driver’s seat, keys in ignition, a question comes to you now, one that you’ll probably never answer, “Where do I go now?” The issue hits you low and fast, and only one solution seems good enough. With shaking hands you reach over and open the glove compartment and find your phone. You should’ve done this a long time ago, long before he had gone. Maybe if you had, he’d still be here. It’s in the contact list, and so many times has been mulled over, then stopped on, distinguished from the others by a little blue stripe, and stayed that way for some time, before you thought of another reason why not to and shut the phone altogether. It angers you suddenly, that you didn’t have the guts, or brains to just click one more button and talk to someone-anyone. Another pang of anger hits because you never even told a single person, not even him, when you knew all along. Now you want to say it, so you do, to the self-confinement of your car, where no one can hear, “He was shooting heroin again. Every night, just before we went to bed. I found his box under the bed, I knew it. I knew it and I never said a thing, until it was too late. Until right now.” The shame and anger burns your face red, but there’s nowhere to hide, and no one to hide from. The tears come again, and as you wipe one off of your cheek, you look down, and realize maybe he’s right here. You’ll keep on going, you know, maybe more out of habit than desire, but living nonetheless. A favourite saying comes to mind now, “Love isn’t put in your heart to stay, love isn’t love until you give it away”. He did that, you now have his love. That’s him, he is right here. Not in person, but in life, and that’s enough for you. The pain will never go, it will just numb down, but that’s ok, you think, as you turn the key and take a Kleenex from the holder, that’s what we’re for; to come and go, not to stay.