I remember Rose dying. I remember her dreaming while dying, talking in her dream about being at a long table full of delicious things, tall enough to see, but too small to reach. It seemed she was asking us to lift her up, or hand her some tasty things. She loved food and felt like she had to be frugal all her life. She took us to happy hour to eat free. She asked me to reach down her plaid suitcase and asked if I wanted to keep it, as she wouldn't be needing it again. She said she didn't believe in the afterlife, but I think she felt she was going somewhere, as she was leaving here. When she died I felt Rose rise, Rose rose, and as she rose I saw the butterfly shadows from her sliding glass window on her headboard flying.

Just as I finish writing this I'm listening to a song called Last Breath.