How sweet is death; It’s life that’s the great tragedy. People keep saying I am strong. They will soon tire of my ruminations; stop reading, stop commenting, and say she’s weak, and then look at me with pity. They will say, ‘What happened to that Energizer. What a waste of good talent’.
Steele hated pity. He even told my parents that in the hospital. He said, I don’t need any pity. That’s why I don’t like too many people coming around. That’s why he wanted to be cremated; he couldn’t stand the thought of people standing over his body in a coffin with pitiful stares. I suppose he always knew his death would be sweet, so there would be no need to mourn his passing.
He wanted to retire by the time he was 40. After five years with me, God gave him an early retirement. He said, ‘You’ve done enough. Now it’s time to rest’. We joked about needing rest while he was in hospital. We said we were both thankful for the rest as time had seemingly stopped; he was also thankful for losing a few pounds, but we both agreed this wasn’t the best way to go about it.
I feel like I am going through the same stages as him: not wanting to talk to anyone or have any visitors; not wanting to talk about the future; not being committed to living or dying. These are all the things he experienced. I can’t figure out if I’m okay; I tell people yes, it makes them feel better, but at the same time it could be no, because I don’t feel particularly committed to life. Whether I stay or go is of no consequence.
God sent me a sign though; he had me read Paulo Coelho’s book, “The Alchemist”, and I think I found out where to look for Steele. It’s in the Soul of the World. (“The boy reached through to the Soul of the World, and saw that it was a part of the Soul of God. And he saw that the Soul of God was his own soul. And that he, a boy, could perform miracles.”) When I learn the language of the ocean, I will be able to speak to Steele again.