The doctor said it was short and quick; that you felt no pain.
He thought he was telling me comforting words, but they were like gravel being hurled at me.
‘A quick bullet to the back of his head’, they said. ‘He couldn’t have anticipated it’
Bu they don’t know how much of a planner you loved to be. You hated uncertainty and always tried to predict every factor in the equation.
‘Good or bad‘, you would say, ‘Knowing is always better’
The clueless doctors also held me and said, ‘You have to be strong and get over it. That’s what he would have wanted’
And it made me cry some more because they didn’t know that you were the one who always showed me the way to strength. And that we never got over anything – we got through them… Together.
The foolish doctors should be burned for saying all the wrong words at once, for indeed they said again, ‘He died a short and quick death. No lasting pains’
And at that, I spat at them (for I couldn’t hold it anymore) and yelled ‘The ignorance of pain is not the same as bliss!’
But they didn’t understand. How could they? Rest in peace, my philosopher.