Forget me lots (Completed)

7. Dawn🌿

I've been thinking about death a lot. I've sat down on my comforter, with Clover by my side, and wrecked my head around the idea of not existing anymore.

I've laid my hand over my dog's ribcage and watched it rise and fall, encompassing her breathing. She's alive. She's a collection of raging cells, which gathered together to form tissue evolving into organs and systems. An intricate pattern of pulses and beats.

How is it that one moment we are here and gone the next? I've spent hours trying to figure out why we die. Why we cease to be. Why do we exist? The point to it all.

When I was a child back in Coeur D'Alene, I heard my mom talking with her friends and saying something like 'eyes had a light' in them. They went on and on about it, and I was sure it was total nonsense. How could they? It's not like we have bulbs hiding in our sockets.

One afternoon, as I was heading to a friend's house to play hopscotch, I realised I was mistaken. In front of me lay a dead cat on the empty street. This was no stray. It was my neighbour's cat, Felix.

I used to know him. I played with him when he came slinking in my room through the window. I teased him until his tail grew fluffy and held him close to hear his purrs. His eyes sparkled a fluorescent green. Now, they were almost colourless, devoid of light. He was sprawled in the middle of the street where a car had run him over and fled.

I understood what adults meant by 'light leaving the eyes'. With striking clarity, I knew it had something to do with being dead.

I remember running home to tell my dad. I cried all the way to my house... He held me tight and explained that life was a miracle of molecules, infinite and extraordinaire. I thought he'd never die. How could he if the light coming from his eyes was so fierce? We attended Felix's funeral, and Daddy held my hand all the time. I felt like a grown-up. Invincible as long as my fingers remained wrapped in his warm grasp.

I lower my gaze to look at my hands trembling on my lap. I shake them as punishment, and Clover sniffs them with curiosity.

"I know, girl. I'm a mess." She nuzzles up against me and I pat her twice. She craves more cuddles, so I hug her tight as she rests her head over my left shoulder. My mind wanders to how many times I've nearly died...

There was this time I fell off the swing when I was six. Dad had built me an outdoor wooden set with his hands. Back and forth, he huffed and groaned, carrying in the thick logs for the beam and the end brackets. He cussed over the phone with the poor hardware store guy. "What the hell is a D shackle swing seat connector, and why didn't you tell me I needed those fucking things when I was there at the store?"

I repeated those words, "What the fuck is a D shackle! What the fuck! Fuck the D shackle!" upsetting Mom, who barked at Dad for having a foul mouth. Once the swing was built, Dad pushed me so high up I thought I could touch the puffy clouds. I laughed for ten minutes straight. He beamed back at me, proud he'd made his baby bee happy.

But then, when he wasn't watching, I stood up on the swing. Why did I stand? Maybe I thought about flying with the birds above my head, with their loud chirps, as if inviting me to join the flock. Maybe I thought I could blast off into space, reach it faster if I was upright. I don't remember.

I teetered and Dad ran toward me saying, "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" He couldn't reach me in time—the birds gave him the evil eye for such careless parenting—and I hit the grass, falling on my arm. I heard the crack of bone, then I screamed in pain. I know now we remember the painful moments the most.

Mom drove us to the hospital, while Dad held me tight. I threw up over his fleece jacket and Mom kept saying, "You could have died, Dawn. If you'd landed on your head, you could have broken your neck! You could have died!"