October: Mortality and Other Words for Death

When the news comes, the knock on the door has a certain hollow sound, the phone ring has a certain off key beep. There are too many missed calls and then finally there is a certain break in the voice. You know before you know.
As 30 creeps up, I think for the first time I am old. I fret about the wrinkles where I smile and more about the ones where I worry. I wonder about the years, feel the momentum of the blink of existence and how small a drop am I in that tidal wave of geological time. It's not enough. Yet, the seconds between when she called and when I knew he died stretched and took up more space than the seconds just before.
Friends die. Family members die. By the time you reach 30 that is not news and the idea of the end sits just on the edge of the periphery, there but lost somehow in direct sights, so every time it comes round, it does not feel old, it does not seem worn. Each time is a new heart break. The presence of wrinkles fall back to a rank less important, more where they belong. Mortality is just another word for death. Death, something that falls apart without life. Life then, seems both more fragile and more meaningful. Time seems too short for significance and too long to remember. Both, And.
My brother died unexpectedly. My sister gave a heartfelt speech at his funeral. I have some regrets. Perhaps I could have done more. What else is there to say?