Part

During the last stretch of my brother’s illness, it was hard not to think about the end. About him not making it.

It was hard not to want closure, to talk to him about things we never did. To hope that he would say things to us that he never could.

 

I was constantly saying goodbye in my mind, imagining the end, parting from him. But at the same time, I was shaking my head ferociously at the notion that he would no longer be. That one day he would just not be there in bed, in his house, on the porch by his family. Next to us.

 

 I was experiencing something I never felt before, I was trying to come to terms with him being gone before he was actually gone. But at the same time, still hoping, believing and longing for something to work out. For him to come out of it.

 

How can you say goodbye to someone who is still there?

To someone who might not be going away, while if he does, you can’t know when?