Death is always a surprise. We could stand facing the sunrise for years watching its pounding feet approach, then wake one morning gasping as death's blank face turns to us, or past us to strike a friend.

Death's face is our own. Reflected on the smooth opal eyes is sadness, fright, wonder, relief, hope, despair. An end perhaps? Or not. Death looks inward; it looks out. It is bound only by our thoughts and imagination.

Years ago a friend had lost her husband. While he was sick and slipping toward the end I listened each day as she talked, her face creased, and she waited. I listened as she told me about his bad night. Pain. Discomfort. Uncertainty.

When my grandmother died my friend had said, you'll remember her, and in dreams or memory she will get younger.

Possibly. Maybe I will flip through the mental images in a flash, remembering my grandmother all at once, rather than a time on a Monday when I was 10 and she sat rubbing her hands together. We were waiting for the school bus. Or again when she stayed at my apartment and mom left me a container of turkey soup to heat later on. I was at least 30.

I want to say goodbye to Timmy Eye. He was a quiet guy. He would rather hear what you were saying than talk over you. He would rather watch and listen than jump in. His few words were always the right ones.

Rarely do I bristle, but one day the first shift bartender clocked out as I took over for the night shift, and rather than join her friends, she hopped back behind the bar several times to serve them shots. The bar would not make money this way. Barking, I said, Sherri, you really need to stop that. Let me work…

Lots of sour energy coursing around inside after that.

Watching from beneath the brim of his hat, Timmy told me, sometimes things need saying.

Yes.

His energy, breath, warmth, and thought will disperse for nature to reclaim. Is he still here, but without voice or substance? Probably. The ground soaks in water that the sun draws back out and the sky returns as rain.

What freezes will thaw. What burns becomes ash. None of it disappears.