Milk, place settings, and silence

"We don't need two gallons of milk." Patrick walked toward his mom and her grocery cart with a gallon of milk in each hand. His mom's words brought him face to face with the new reality. I may long remember Patrick's body language at that moment. I can't forget Cathy's expression. Pain at the moment o realization can contort a body. Facial muscles tense and  eyes narrow as if to stop the flood of tears rushing to burst free on the energy of suppressed grief.

Meal time is an everyday pain. The empty chair at the table, the place not set I can not face. The break in the flow of passing food around the table showed the family circle is over. Leftovers were food not eaten by the one who is not there.   Silence from the chair tortures me. You don't eat as much as you choke down tasteless food and then walk away from the dead space.  And it waits for you. The chair stays under the table and waits. Look at me. See who isn't here.

The table and 4 chairs are gone. I don't know what became of them. And I still run from the empty seat at the table.

Life At It's Pinnacle

We see them in the distance after they have passed. They stand still and solemn. The peace filled time our memory tells us was the day. The pinnacles of life. We don't know the precariousness of the moment. There was so much more above. From here we could see forever, and forever was a dream. The limitless sky was what we saw.  We never imagined a tremendous fall. At the bottom would be the wreckage of the energy of life. Shattered in a mathematical equation. At the speed of life squared, the ending comes quick.

From a distance the pinnacle reminds us that life is only a moment. We stood here once. The other side of the peak was not visible that day. We only see the precipice from here, and wonder how we, or even if we, survived the fall. And where do we go from here? To another pinnacle?