Andrew Rainey
I do not know how to process the loss of someone who was, who suddenly is not. Especially when they still should. Is there an appropriate amount of stillness that needs to be held, like a cup of coffee before taking the first sip? How does one know when it is ok for the wind to keep blowing, or the birds to chirp their morning song, or the day to break wide open and the sun to shine despite the fact that this person, who just was a face for the wind to blow fiercely or softly upon, who only yesterday heard the birds singing, whose body the sun also rose to greet, is now gone. Yet nothing stops. I blink again. The minutes pass. I can’t stop being or breathing, even in stillness the water ripples, the grass grows, the muscles around the lungs contract and the winds rush in. Your memory is a kindness, an adventure, long ago friendships and late night laughter. Maybe goodbye does not require a halt or a held pose, maybe it should not be a hard freeze. Maybe it is a pause, a well