I think it was a Gibson

I am getting lost in the memories of those who have gone before me. Who have been living stories. Death has me thinking about them, about what has shaped me and what I have let go.

Line up

Those same sisters once stood around their mother’s arborite kitchen table making strudel together. I sat underneath, watching their comfortable shoes move behind the dough that hung over the table’s edge. “More raisins, Elsie.” “I think it’s enough, Hedwig.”

Death, continued

I have experienced death – first hand – twice now. I am a child compared to some. A virgin. Innocent. When I think of the world around me and it’s wars and tragedies, what do I know of death? Except that I know. I know my apples amongst the oranges.

Death

Now it is time to speak for me, of me. And I have something to say about death.

Trumped

Is it ok that I am talking about your fear? Because I think it needs to be known. Your living and your dying, it is an example.