This thing we call forever.

“'Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?'

The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law.

But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory

through our Lord Jesus Christ.”

1 Corinthians15:55-57

Dear Me,

Do you remember the time you had those boys kill that praying mantis because it stood between you and the door of your apartment? They had come out of nowhere like a shallow-breathed answer to a heart-crushing prayer, knights in shining armor on dirt bikes.

Their heels left the thing limp and practically lifeless, but you could still see the life in it. And the weight of that act hurt you worse than your initial fear. You took it inside and tried to nurse it back to health, telling your mother that maybe you could bring it in for show and tell the next day, but then just like that, it was gone.

And a part of you too.

Death then becomes a thing you think about without meaning to. You realize your grandmother is old and suddenly break out in tears over this travesty. You often think of your mother gone too soon while you're fated to live a life making your father baked chicken and broccoli when you don't even know how to use the oven.

But I can tell you, these things don't happen. Not yet anyway. Thirty-nine years and counting, friend.

But what does happen is time curling and yellowing at the edges. It flicks off like something you can't even see until you hardly remember it at all. Like your daughter, small and her innocence fringing upon your guilt. Blue eyes and blond hair and skin that hasn't had enough time to become allergic to this world.

Or your dogs, sweet little things that love you like loving never comes at a cost. You go to find them only to remember this year is not the one in which they exist.

Tiny bits of moments of people you used to know, and one time did, but now they lay dormant until something sets them off–dead people come to life in the recesses of your brain.

Like God does with your useless heart that can only be used with His say so.

Like death is more than a goodbyeؘ–a forever thing–unless you know the One who created this thing we call forever.

Talk soon,

Ericka