beating pulse

he was sitting upright on the couch, swaying slightly, words starting to slip away from him.

i stood in front of him, holding him steady, waiting for the ambulance to arrive.

he lifted his hand

extended one finger

and touched my leg.

in that moment i felt every piece of love he had ever held for me.

all of it.

like this was his last attempt to say what he hadn’t said out loud.

the ambulance officers came through the door

took one look

pulled him off the couch and onto the ground.

they said he was about to go

and started cpr.

and right there

in front of me

he took his last breath.

death shows you finality.

the end of what you began.

the sharp line between existing in this body and not.

it is inevitable

but it doesn’t have to trap you.

life moves like a pulse

in and out

ebb and flow

sometimes slow

sometimes violent

and somewhere in the middle

there is a point where both meet

long enough for you to feel the balance.

the strength of the loss is the strength of the gain.

two ends of the same rhythm.

once you see that

you stop fearing the swing.

you start creating movement toward what you actually want

knowing that the opposite

the ache

the empty

the collapse

is often the ignition that pulls the next pulse into being.

this is surge

the beating pulse

the knowing that everything you lose

and everything you love

always moves through the same current.