Maybe in the next one, you don’t have to empty the 401k for the chemo and radiation that didn’t work. We wouldn’t live near some Monsanto bubble and we can be surrounded by natural green, away from body destroying beings. You could be smart and die of old age instead of some tumor in Latin you can’t pronounce. 

At least you avoided a mass shooting. At least I didn’t have to get the thoughts and prayers speech from our local rep. The GoFundMe, although a kind gesture, didn’t stave off the debt collection agency for long.

There is not one bigger beast alive than one of greed. Church and capitalism can teach you many sermons. And here we are - voted and canvassed and not a word from a rep. Not even an automatic out of office pity paragraph.

You were worried about becoming taut, enfeebled. Couldn’t keep orange juice down. Soggy saltine crackers in Campbell’s condensed broth never even stood a chance.

I finally had to drag the mattress into our sunroom, so you wouldn’t have to go up the stairs and make the journey.

Although we were going on journeys, every day, all the time - I had become the infantry and you became the scout, staying behind to spy what you could, to look ahead and see what dangers I would face. Because you said, pointing a bony finger at me - head gleaming, shining, eyes bugged - that you knew your dangers and they were easy. I was the one that was wandering into a hard battle. I had to worry about bills and falling in love again, learn how to talk to people again. All you had to worry about was not puking up water on yourself. You’d laugh, and in the dark of our living room with the autumn leaves rustling, we’d share a cry over our makeshift dinners.

I had caught you trying on some old skirts, as you tried your best to twirl and waltz. I remembered when I met you at the high school winter social. A pearl bracelet that barely stayed on your wrist, even then.  “I can still fit in this,” you said as I saw your skin keep becoming like paper.

The night before I had to take you to hospice, we were laying in the backyard grass, rain on the way. You had said, “let me be on the top of the dirt before I become underneath it”. I held you as tight as I could whenever a breeze came. I could feel your bones between my fingers and you told me not to kiss you anymore. Your lips had no power and you were worried they didn’t have enough plush to entice me. 

“Maybe in the next one, you won’t be able to stop me,” I said.

Kevin Richard White lives in Philadelphia. He currently is running Citywide Lunch. He has been published many other places.