time to eat.
I mix the cookie dough with a calm pleasure,
measuring carefully as the amounts are especially important to get right on this day.
Time to bake.
I walk through my home,
this pleace is beautiful and bursting at its seams with memories.
We did a good job, I think to myself.
When he died I never thought I’d truly live again,
but then life was kind to me.
I sign the letters to our kids,
place the stamps deliberately,
and walk outside to our mailbox.
The day is a beautiful one, a dry 70 F.
I am surrounded by life in varying shades of green.
We chose a good place to call home, love.
I come back inside to the smell of ooey gooey chocolate chip cookes,
still my favorite after all of these years.
I pull the cookies out and set them one by one on the cooling rack. While I wait for them to cool I light a pre-roll, I only buy pre-rolls now as my hands aren’t what they used to be.
I sit back in my lawn chair and enjoy the sky.
I wish you were here my sweet.
It’s almost time, I think.
I put the cookies on a plate and take them outside to enjoy with my smoke.
It’s time to write. With a heavy pen, I write the very last thing I ever will write. I seal the note in an envelope.
I polish off the cookies one by one, until my belly is full and my eyes begin to droop. Before it’s too late, I dial 9-1-1. I light my joint to smoke one last time.
The note is all they’ll need to understand that this is my goodbye.
“This isn’t the time to fight. They’ve caught it too late and at this point in my life, I am ready to die. To die, like this, of my own volition is the only way I can bear to say Goodbye.”
I let my eyes close and drift off to sleep.