Her father always told her; " Death is a dog."

She never quite understood what exactly that meant.

Death is quiet. It comes on the heels of hushed soles; softer than panther paws on fallen bamboo leaves piled layer upon layer, until all noise is silence. Death is a whisper walking down the end of a long hallway. Death is deafly dear to you.

Death is diligent, as it records the hour, the day, the month and the year of your vital signs. It studies carefully the fluids you have taken in as well as those that have escaped. It knows the meter and rhyme of your heart better than its rate. Deaths has recorded your first breath and your last exhale. Death knows you, well or not.

Death is skillful, as it removes your life an ounce or a second at a time through a maze of tubes and wires with neither a kink nor a snare. Death is all the fundamental facts of Life you have learned at last.

Death provides, kindness, as it places its cool palm against your warm chest, holds you wrist gently in its hand, wipes your forehead, adjust your pillow, combs your hair and always smiles at you when it is near. Death cares for you through out your life.

Death is enduring, as it holds the door open for you, sets your table, washes your sheets. Death stays awake and always waits besides you.

When the events finally caught up with her there was nothing left to do except cry and she wept uncontrollably. There was no consoling her. He held her in his arms as her grief racked her in such a way, that it made her entire body heave and quake. Her tears fell like the smaller rain in the larger sky. She cried until she could no longer shed another tear. Her exhaustion lead to sleep and he laid her quietly on the bed where her sleep gave way to her dreams.

She dreamt that she awoke on the front lawn of her parent’s house. She was a little girl again wearing her red dress, with a red ribbon in her hair and he was there. Bending down with his arms wide open to receiver her. She ran and leaped into his outstretched arms. He gently lifted her up into the air and twirled her around by her waist. He let her down gently to the ground. The second her feet touched the earth, she saw her dog come running towards her, with one arm she hugged the dogs neck lovingly and with her other arm she held on tight to his leg. This was the happiest moment of her life.

But the man and the dog are long since gone, kept alive only by that miraculous thing, we call memory, never aging a second or an hour, timeless, forever waiting for us.

When she awoke she was surprised to see him still sitting there. She smiled; "Have you been there long?" ‘No not that long. Let me fix you some tea.’ He bent down and gave her a small kiss. When he left the room, it dawned on her what her father had meant…

Death is patient and loyal

as a dog as it waits, for you

for the rest of your life.