Death is such a funny thing.
One second someone’s here and suddenly they’re not.

I’ve learned a lot about death in the last year.
From dogs to humans. I see them.
Breathing alive humans. I know them. I love them.
And then they’re not them anymore.
There’s a body, a vessel, a person long forgotten.

I think to myself, the one I loved is still out there.
In a soul.
In a feeling.
In a spirit.
In the air.
Around me, thinking of me, blessing me.
Cursing me, perhaps.

For moments I didn’t spend with them. I could have, I didn’t.
I made choices for me and today I wish I’d made those choices for them.
I tell myself every day to not judge myself.
For yesterday’s actions
With today’s knowledge.
But is life ever that simple?

Is anything ever that simple?
The complicated concept of existence vexes me.
So their soul lives on?
They will follow me around?
The people I lost? The pets I want back?
Does that mean they never existed or does that mean they never leave?

Do I process the grief then?
Or did I not really lose them?
Just their bodies? Their vessels for their soul?

But then, what am I really missing?
Because their voice belongs to the vessel and I miss their voice.
I miss phone calls.
I miss silent groans.
I miss the smell of cigarettes and soap.
The stink of grass and mud and thick fur.

So did I never love the person?
Was it a marketing thing,
Loving the packaging?

When do you stop missing it?
When does it stop hurting?
When do they come back?
When do you stop hoping they would?
When do you no longer look at the door, aching
Wishing.
Praying.
For one more sight.
One more hug.
One more conversation.
One more puppy lick.
One last bark you can admonish lovingly?

Death is a funny thing
Because there is nothing quite as painful as it.
And if you don’t learn to laugh at the pain
And the loss it causes deep within,
In your vessel, perhaps your soul,
It will laugh at you.
At the power it has over you.
How it wrecks you.

A little bit every day
Until suddenly
You’re only the vessel.
There’s no soul left.
None that will haunt those who love you after you leave.
Your body will exist.
It will function.
Your spirit won’t.

So you put on a smile and you go on
Like death didn’t matter.
Like all of it was a blip in your moment.
Like you never loved.
You never lost.
It never happened.

Because – if you don’t
And you start to let these things become real
You’ll have to start living.
And goodness gracious,
who wants to do that?