Monday, January 5, 2009


When we got to the hospital Chester had already passed. We just missed it. My grandmother had already left. She didn't know we were on our way. It was a long drive through mountainous roads and cell phone dead zones.

They asked if we wanted to see him. I said yes. I thought it would be much easier to see him still warm and lifelike, resting in a bed. He looked asleep. Pink and soft resting with his mouth slightly open. I noticed his messy hair. He would never have gone for that. He was so particular about his hair. But Chester was not longer in the room. Despite the pink color and the warm body it was easy to see it was just a hollow shell. His former home. His peaceful face showed the relief he must have felt when he slipped out of the prison his body had so quickly become. Imagine the rapture he felt as he entered into his rest.

My mother said it best. "You were a good man. I love you."

I don't need a veiwing or funeral. I've seen him. We shared our moment. But onward we'll press like good little soldiers, painting on our tin faces so that others may have theirs.