seven months before my father died
my sister was born
i held her tiny hands
and contemplated birth
the beginning of life
seven months passed
and my father stopped breathing
every time i saw my sister\'s chest rise
i thought of him
i was nine years old
already drawing the lines to connect
birth and death
i could not help feeling anger
that she had taken his place
as if his death
had freed her up a space
but looking at that tiny face
i saw love
i have always found joy in children
and this child was so small
i knew she had not replaced him
her presence
had not diminished his existence
but still
i felt her gentle breaths
and wondered if her birth
had set a timer on his life
if it had reduced his spirit
to the flickering stub of a used candle
if he had glinted in the darkness
until finally burning out
and dying
like stars
my sister has grown now
ten years old
older than i was
at the beginning of this story
and she is nothing like my father
she is more like her own father
in the face
the eyes
and the short-fused temper
i hope i am more like my father
in the face
the dress sense
perhaps a little of the music taste
i hope that he lives on through my hands
i don\'t believe death is the end
so when it all comes crashing down
when my sister
grabs my hand through the veil
and jumps into the next life
she will meet my father
i will make them hug
and smile at her embarrassment
i will see, then
her birth did not diminish his existence
i will see
death is truly not the end
but just a step
into the next room
just a second
of absence
just a message
i\'ll see you soon.
13:09pm - 14/05/24.