Her words were never heard
they were never spoken.
She created her own language
through her eyes, her vibrant sapphire eyes.
We grew up together, her and I...
and yet she never really grew up,
She never wrote her name,
she never learned to read.
But she would laugh
when music was played.
Open heart surgery took away her mind
at three years old
she always clearly recognized those who loved her.
It was a warm evening in September
her 24th year
when the four of us stood by her bedside.
Grief shot through me...
my hands shook as I held the phone.
I wondered about the man on the other end of the line.
how could he stomach phone calls like mine?
and we cried
as her gentle spirit left
and her fragile body remained.
In the movies
you occasionally see someone close the eyes of the deceased
and yet when I tried
her eyes wouldn't close.
Her peaceful gaze
I will never forget.
Three weeks passed.
The four of us set our sails
and we drifted into the kelp beds of the San Diego bay.
silence within the cabin.
The soft wind ruffled the sails
as the urn was opened.
Ivory ashes fell into the water
as I recorded the subtle ceremony.
We thought our eyes were deceiving us
her spirit alive once more
as a piece of kelp came into the ashes,
that formed the letter "J."
Jordan told us that day
to not worry, that she is okay.
And that changed me.
So much so
that I live my life now as she would want me to
hungry for knowledge and adventure,
accepting of the inevitable.
Because being alive is truly awesome.