lui is in heaven

Of death and dying. Of finding and losing. Of holding on and letting go. Of forgetting and remembering. . . So trite yet life is full of them. You remember moments when that chair held an old woman laughing while rocking herself. Of an old man rocking and laughing with her. Of children cradled and soon grown-up, losing a part of themselves, finding their way, rocking back and forth . . . Of dogs, in black and white, in brown . . . Pico, Pica, Cenotsky . . . cats numbering to scandalous number . . . Of so many familiar faces and butts cradling themselves and rocking merrily in a house called Heaven.

No, I don't forget. I remember everything with a smile. Moments that whisper faded laughters and voices that sing to the night. Of birds and frogs and lizards calling me to sleep. I rock myself this afternoon with eyes closed and in the blasted heat of summer, I take a rest. I ponder and I smile. And then my phone rings and I am back to the sad but meaningful moment of my life . . . .