nothing more

Every night, I thought: I will never leave this place happy.

Until last night, when the crescent moon was lying low outside the Hospice door and the Big Dipper was rising in the northern sky.

Because yesterday Rich realized he was mortal. He would die, soon. And all of the blah, the blahs, and the blah blah blah began fading away.

Before leaving, I closed his door and joined him in bed.

Logistically, not easy.

"Put down the railing," Rich suggests.

Though I did this before, and watched the nurses a dozen times, the metal doesn't budge.

No matter. I crawl up and in and soon once more I'm lying on his shoulder, his left hand still moving and stroking, and I fall into the infinite, knowing this will never end.

"I have no evidence for this," Rich says, later, "but love goes on forever. Until the end of time, whenever that is."

I keep my head buried in his shoulder, wetting his T-shirt.

"It's now too late," he says. "To show how much I love you. That you're the most important thing in my life. Always have been."

"Me, too. Always."

We both know this. Always have. And always will.

I start unravelling my body. How did I get into this position, and how can I get up without hurting him and turning my spine into a damaged pretzel?

I remember my yoga practice. How we end the asana is no less important than how we begin. When done properly, what was outward moves inward, and the transformation begins.

We kiss good-night. I leave.

By the next crescent moon, by the time Dipper moves out of the northern sky, by the time Orion first appears...will we be apart forever, or still in this infinite moment...

I laugh at myself. Still not realizing. No difference.

Candace