Wednesday, February 17, 2016

#SOL16: A Fleeting Chirp

Forgetfulness (M.A. Reilly, 2010)     
I stay up late listening.
My feet tap the floor,
they begin a tiny dance
which will outlive me.
From Larry Levis's "Signs"


The squeaking sound In the hallway has me raising my head. It's late and as I look up I see a body, shrouded in a white sheet being pushed passed the door on a gurney. The person in the room next to Rob's has died. This glimpse at death remains unseen by Rob and Devon, both of whom are sleeping. Dev has insisted on coming tonight to spend the last night at the hospital with his dad. Earlier he said to me, "Let's make the most of this time with Dad."

"Yes, let's."


I never gave much thought to an afterlife. But now I do. I know there is more to us--to Rob and me-than this mortal time we have composed and shared--a time cut too short. Two days ago, Rob told me that he would leave signs for me to follow as he travels from this universe to a parallel one.

"Pay attention," he jokingly scolded. "Read the signs I leave."


Signs abound and tonight has me thinking more about possibilities than certainties.

1.3 billion years, two black holes collided and on the day the infected port was inserted under Rob's skin--the very act that started him on this road towards death,  "[a] team of scientists...heard and recorded the sound" of the collision: a fleeting chirp from a cosmic event that happened more than a billion years ago.

Tonight I am thinking how faith need not be limited to incense and prayer.

"I'll listen," I say softly into the darkness of the room, pausing to hear him asleep.