another resident passed this weekend.

not another resident. the first. my first. my first i was close to for real.

there had been those i worked with a lot, or those that i watched the decline and had time to prepare, but never one from out of the blue, or one i was really close to.

i was close to this woman. she was so sweet and so funny.. a little confused, but that's to be expected at ninety-something.
i'm seventeen and i'm confused. i have no room to talk of confused.

i hate that she's my first, as in first in a series, first of many, first flake of what will soon be the prospected avalanche sliding through flu season into the unknown Afterward.

i hate that my grandparents' cat of nineteen years is now buried in the backyard and their other cat still searches for him in his bed, and won't sleep at night because her lifelong partner is gone from her side forever.

i hate that every decision my peers and i make is carefully chronicaled by Fate and stored for future reference on our lives and their ultimate end.

i hate that death is plural.

ink :: graphite