We entered the lobby of a massive building. The guard told us to hit the button and the we elevator would take us to one room and one room only.
He was right.
The main thing to take away, at this point, is that we're still alone.
The threads of connection that held us all in place were torn asunder by the image of ourselves. We can lie, I suppose, but the voice spinning yarns is still our own.
We'd betray ourselves eventually.
Images cut through our doubts, replacing memories and conversation. I try to love the true flawed you, but it drifts farther away from me, without you to give me my flaws again.
Seven years ago, my little brother died. His life I remember well. My grief after his death I remember less well, or rather not in the same way as my memory worked before that point. The week in the hospital I remember clearly. The angle of the hospital bed, which wall the chairs were against, the faces of the nurses and doctors as they hunched over the machine that was oxygenating his blood and returning it to his body.
I remember my father gently arranging Luis's favorite pillow (which Luis had had for years and served as a sort of abstract teddy bear that he had named "Pika" ) against his side. As he did so, I had remembered that same image from the first year of Luis's life that he spent entirely in the hospital, from the perspective of the child that I was, my father seeming so tall, bending over his pale infant, and the tears on his cheeks. The first time I had seen my father cry.
Endings are foretold by the beginnings, I'd read, and it appeared to be true this time.
That's the last period of time that I remember linearly. The images in my head that followed after Luis's death are rippled and warped, like a stained-glass window. Then that window shattered and fell into the ocean, colored shards dancing erratically into the depths, a glimmering swallowed by the darkness.
I imagine now, that grief is an ocean planet, with no solid core, a sea with no floor. Those broken pieces sank all the way to that center, fell through, and began to rise.
My father fell ill a couple weeks ago. He has always been reluctant to seek medical treatment and this was no exception. Eventually, he was convinced.
Seems better now. He came over last weekend to hang out. We watched The Force Awakens. We've spent more time together this past year. He doesn't like going out, but I guess I'm just across the street so he makes an exception.