February 23rd, 2014

Genna came in quietly after the weekend at home and Davia and I stopped talking to listen
to the mood of her steps. She didn't answer when we first said hello, and then on the second
hello she said it back, flatly. As she came up the stairs she avoided eye contact and went
straight to her room. We both stood up and waited in the doorway of my room. So, is 
everything ok? I finally said. She came out and stood to face us both and then said simply  
she died and fell into Davia's arms. We listened to her sobs and when she pulled back she
told us how it happened and what it was like. We sat next to each other on the floor of my
bedroom, Davia sat on the bed, and we talked about death and everything it gives and takes
away. Were you there? I asked. Yes. She started breathing heavily and then, suddenly, she 
opened her eyes wide, and then she was gone. Tears streamed down Davia's face as she
listened and she said What is better than having your baby and your baby's baby by your 
side when you go? We laughed at the beauty and depth of Davia's empathy and talked about
what comes next and how it seems, eventually, that the other side is more welcoming than
this one, as it slowly, over a lifetime, becomes populated by everyone you love.