|Darrell James Hueston: November 8 1969 - March 15 2019
||[Mar. 18th, 2019|12:04 pm]
Hemlock B. Bootsalotta
At one point when I was in the hospital with him, I told somebody I felt like I was trapped in amber. The only thing that changed was the colour of the light coming through the window. People came in and out, nurses did things, the phone blipped and beeped with calls and messages. Time stretched into infinity and I spent all of time inside a single beige room.
Meanwhile I fluttered around him like a moth, holding his hand, reading to him, talking to him, beating my wings against the glass while a candle slowly guttered out on the other side.
It still doesn't feel real. He spent three months at the hospital so it hasn't quite sunk in yet that he's not in the house. I'm not going to the hospital every day so now I have all this time on my hands and a huge to-do list and I'm seemingly incapable of connecting them to each other.
The funeral is on Wednesday. Maybe that's when it will finally hit me.
I will be OK. Everything will be OK. I have my partners, I have my friends, I have my family. Eventually life will stumble into something resembling normal. I will figure it out.
But in the meantime, I'm still trapped in amber.
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