Remembering Sam and Tristan…

The room was dark. Machines beeped softly into the silence. I sat in the hard, fake leather chair, waiting. The flesh cutter–steel eyes, white coat and fake smile, finally came in. He said it would be better in a few months.

What about today? What about tomorrow? No answer, just a twitch, eyes averted. Asshole.

While waiting for her to wake up after the surgery, I day dreamed a new reality, a brighter, bigger stage for her to live upon. The pain would be a minor player; the horror, subdued in violet and pink-painted sets, would have no voice.

 The actors would ask the questions: Do I have a body or does it have me? When I die is that it; pitch black forever, no thought, no feeling, no sight, no sound, the end of me? Would an eternity asleep be a relief, or would I get bored? What beliefs do I allow into my reality; do I include poetry, Picasso, sex, junk food, Bourbon, pot, a cat, a dog? Who judges me at the end? Is it a court of high appeal run by super angels waiting in the wings? Is there a mighty Creator of all things,  hovering under the  lights, who understands everything? Or, is there a piece of God in every one of us and we live forever?

And then Sam would come center stage, smile her perfect smile, and give the answers. The applause would be deafening.

When she woke up, she looked at me and said, “It’s not time to die yet.”

                                                  *************

I wrote this for Samantha and Tristan who showed us that joy can rise above pain. They’re both gone now but are forever a part of the lives they touched.  Tim Barrus and I sat in different chairs continents apart, he beside Tristan, me beside Sam, holding fast to those brief moments of joy. 

copyright: (c)  2010-2012 Susannah Morgan

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