Puffy Clouds

The sky is so blue and bright today, dotted with little puffy clouds. With every slow breath I can taste the sweet scent floating on the air. It’s floral. I can’t tell which flowers, though. 

There’s a bit of dust or a speck of dirt in my eye but I can’t get it out. It waters and the tears leak down the side of my face and as I attempt to blink away the pain, out of the corner of my watery eye, I see a cloud drift into view. It looks like a duck. It's so absurd to see a white fluffy duck swimming in the sky that I chuckle. But it comes out as more of a cough and now both eyes are watering. 

The duck makes me reminisce. Quacking at me, forcing me to remember all of the times that I sat in the yard and watched the clouds roll by with my sister. Of all the times I made stupid decisions or embarrassed myself. Of all the opportunities I missed. When James proposed, I should have said yes. And when my grandfather passed, I should have gone to the funeral but I was still so angry with him. I let my anger rob me of my chance to say goodbye.

More dirt rains down on me tasting bitter. My whole childhood is passing by in a parade of cumulus shapes and all I can do is mourn it. So much wasted time.

He shovels more dirt on top of me and coughs from the dust he’s kicking up. I don’t know his name – he never said. And I don’t know why he chose me but he did. I wish I could say that I cared but as I’m lying here, breathing in particles of earth and knowing that my limbs are broken and unwilling to move, I don’t. He thinks his face will be the last that I see, but it’s not. So many faces are crossing my mind right now and not one of them is his. He probably also thinks that I am afraid of dying. I’m not. Not really. Nothing could be more of a blessing right now. But I am afraid of all of things that I am going to miss. The life I could have had. The children that will never be. Holidays spent with a full house of laughter and love. Warm summer nights where the lightning bugs dance among the trees and little hands and feet give them chase. James. The love he promised that I was too afraid to accept. The home we could have built together. Growing old with him. I am afraid to lose that hope, that dream.

I can imagine it. I can see it clearly as the dirt and rock piles up and my view of the sky and of the duck and of my breathable air disappears. A son with James’s eyes and chin and my dark hair. A girl with the sweetest laugh and smile. My tears flow harder as I picture the family I missed out on. They are what I think about as my breathing slows and my heart beats become farther apart. For a minute I panic because there is no more air, only dirt. My lungs are burning in the darkness and fear gives way to black. And I am not afraid. I have my family with me.