I will always remember the last time I looked into her eyes. Dark and cloudy with flecks of sun. But a storm was coming and you knew it. You always knew. You always knew, didn’t you Chelsea. You knew when tears were rolling down my mother’s face. You knew when the man with the white jacket came to our house. And you knew when the clear syringe went into your body and your eyes got all heavy, like tiny little fairies were pulling, pulling, pulling your eyelids down. And you knew when you saw the last glimpse of your life, of my parents softly stroking your thick, midnight fur. And you knew when the light came streaming through the windows, its tendrils quietly grabbing at the last wisps of life. Swallowing everything, everything until there is nothing left but you. And then it stops, you stop. And disappear from the world.
January 16, 2013