I woke up an hour ago to the awkward silence all through the house. I’d fallen asleep in tears sometime around 3am, to the sound of Pogo’s raspy breathing, remembering her last day. She was teaching Chloe how to read, she wanted her to carry something with her always, something that she had given her. She had made out a last will and testament, though it’s not legal, I fully intend to do whatever it says. Like Jess, she refused pain medication at the last of it, as if she wanted to be alert, or possibly aware of what was happening. Maybe she knew that pain medication couldn’t stop the inevitable. I don’t know what her decision to be alert was, and I don’t know if I want to know. I woke up to silence and stillness, and I knew immediately that Pogo was gone. My father-in-law informed me that “they” had come and taken her at around 8am. He was going to go into more details, but I stopped him. I don’t need to know that just yet. Her room wasn’t covered in body fluids and her bed was only slightly messed up. I wasn’t awoken to her screams, so I assume she went peacefully and fairly painlessly, in her father’s arms.
Pogo will never have her own online journal or .com now (we were waiting for enom to let go of a name they were scalping that she wanted).
She will never see if Adam Lambert will be the next American Idol.
She will never go to middle school or no longer have to wear those bad private school jumpers.
She will never see me graduate with my PhD.
She will never get to see the two final Harry Potter movies.
She will never know if her little sister learned to read or not.
She will never get to see Rod Stewart at the BOK center.
I’ve spent the last few minutes trying to think of something positive that could come from this, but I can’t think of anything.