Untitled--2.

2.
I wanted you to go untalked-of. But not unremembered. That would be strange, ironic, since your memory only comes in spurts now. Untalked of so no mortal spirits have ownership of this time. The time that you and I and mom only remembered together and Claudia too, those people who help us at the end of life and into the next are the most important. You mark the time by habits now; basic bodily functions.

Who owns our laughter and our sadness? There will be a timespan on the grave marker. My mom said she couldn’t buy it in advance, that that was too heartless. I understand her, even though she thinks I don’t always.

We go over our names and relationships again. You were mainly wife and mother. A neglected profession. That is part of why I feel strange about my silence around this. This is your daughter, I am your granddaughter. We remind you. You watch Jimmy Stewart movies and sometimes awful, fear-based news. I joked that this helped keep you alive. Claudia prepares your favorite dishes. I wonder how she has time to dye her hair that shade of red. But it is probably more waiting than we think. Your kidneys tick functionality. Time has transferred from clock to body.

I didn’t want to talk about this because I wanted it to be secret. In the old days, the sacred places were erased. We remembered by telling stories only. The sand swept away. Only a single rock left. Techniques whispered. We told the same story.

I will be back here someday, doing this with somebody else. But I don’t want to think about that right now. It’ll be time for you to go. Later, soon, the internet will know these secret, dark silences. The purpose will have been defeated. I’ll have given our power to them again.