I'm screaming in my head and in my ears and in my closed mouth because as I drive to work you lay shriveling on your living room floor. Your voice is speaking to me softly but all I can hear are screams coming from one or maybe both of us. I'm scared to forget the feeling of your fingers on the back of my neck, the incense of your house, the gold dripping from your every pore. The idea of you, helpless and alone, drives me mad. Those horrible words she spoke to comfort me just made me want to throw my screams around the world. But where are you now? Would you even hear them? Or have they sealed you shut never to speak or see or smell or hear again? Death is never natural. It's never the right time. It's never going to be okay.