With my finger, I can outline an area on my flesh under which is completely vacant, except for a wind tunnel of pain that sucks the life out of me. It’s as if the emergency door on an airplane was suddenly thrown open. I sometimes want to allow myself to be sucked out with it. To just relax, finally, and be swept along. I imagine you at the end of that tunnel, waiting for me with your open arms, and calm, soft, gravelly voice. Telling me, “I told you I’d never leave you.” I would bury my face in your neck and gasp in the scent of your cologne, tears streaming down my face one right after another, hiccupping amd sobbing because I know you’d be sending me back too soon. This was your time to go, not mine, you said. So, just like you wouldn’t let me stay when you were here, I know you wouldn’t let me stay if I was there. I just don’t know what else to do except wait for G-d to determine when OUR time is.