Day of the Dead

Tomorrow it will be 8 months since Natalie died. She dies in my arms, and the arms of her friends and sister and brother. There was music playing, her favorites, but for the life of me I can’t recall the song. It was probably Dave Matthews. I didn’t cry, I didn’t want her to worry that something was wrong. I only cry when there is something wrong. Dying isn’t wrong.

I remember what she was wearing, Candice picked it out. A purple skirt and a yellow tank top with sequins on it; we brushed her hair after they took off all the life support tubes and needles, so she wouldn’t look so sick. I would have washed it if I thought there would be time; she was such a fanatic about clean hair. We wanted her to look like an angel as she became one. But it wasn’t long before she turned grey, as the life drained from her body, as her little lungs could no longer sustain the movement of the precious oxygen that is the giver of life. I wish she was pink, she would have looked better but, that is not the color of death.

I don’t remember what the weather was like that day. We all went to sushi after she died; some macabre gesture that everyone except me thought would be what Nat wanted. I just wanted to go home and get drunk. But I did sushi and sake, and for the sake of the kids tried to act like it was the right thing to do. It was stupid because Nat wasn’t there eating it with us.

Tomorrow is Dia de las Muertes; the day that the dead is honored.