trigger points.

The Phlegmatic State Of Bereavement (PROSE)

An exerpt from Section A: The Phlegmatic State of Bereavement

We rode in silence, both knowing exactly where we were headed. The road to heartache. It curved leisurely then stooped into a deep decent.

It's only a matter of time

"Did you have a lovely day at work?"

Though you are my father, it felt awkward. You had never said it like that before.

Usually it was a casual, "How's it goin, bub?" but this time it held a more definite purpose.

I replied, "Good. Busy." Unsure exactly what to say.

I contemplated asking, "How was yours?" but it sounded all too fake.

We finally pulled in and met up with our family, including my cousin. We shared a knowing glance and a sad smile.

We took the elevator to an unfamiliar room. They had moved you into a lonely one bed chamber afit with one window hidden by a long off-white shutter. Everything was silent, strung with decay.

It's only a matter of time

The ticking of the wall clock resonated in my ringing ears. My uncle, whom never showed one ounce of emotion, gently stroked your forehead as you lay sleeping in a twilight state. Your eyes flickered but nothing more.

"Can you hear us, mate?" His gentle voice shook slightly as he asked for any form of response.

After many moments your eyes opened, unseeing. You gazed into space. Into twilight. You groaned, trying so hard to speak but whether you physically could was beyong my knowledge.

My uncle opened the shutter slightly to reveal a starlit sky and a statue of Jesus, cradling a newborn child. You gazed at it intently for some time, as if knowing somehow he would save you from this pain.

Oh, how I wish he could.

I've never seen a group of full grown men so glassy eyed, their hearts destroying inside. Destroying for you.

Take the pain away.

It's only a matter of time