March 4, 2013
I cannot help but see my parents’ skeletonized forms. It does not scare me. It fascinates. I am hyperly aware of Dad’s skeletal hands holding a pen. Mom’s sunken crevices in her skull as she applies makeup. It’s not grotesque. There is still the vibrant flesh of life covering, but it is transparent and I can see how the teeth masticate, how the spine alters, how the limbs interlock.
My parents were cremated so they did not decay naturally after death. Then why am I so aware right now of the process of life wasting away and revealing the framework below? I place myself in them. Can feel their movements as my own.
The hollows where the eyes would have been. The apparent transparent passing, the end, the transition. The release of the soul. The finality of this to the infinity of that. The delicate veins.
The pores in the skin, the pores in the marrow, in the bone. The ligaments decaying declining ceasing. The absence. The presence. The lesson. The ashes to ashes. The lightness.