The Day I Cannot Remember

I remember the date. I remember the time. I remember how loud his breathing was, and how the quiet that followed felt louder than any thunder I’d ever heard.

It was as if I were watching from far away—present in a mist. I couldn’t grasp what had happened. I couldn’t understand why, or how, a brilliant mind could stop thinking and a lively person stop living.

Terry once said, “I don't mind dying. I just don't want to be around when it happens.” I truly hope he was granted that wish—most of his wishes and dreams never came true.

I cannot really remember that last day of his life; I only remember it was the last time I felt the ground solid beneath my feet.