The candle is still burning in the window of Jersey's Room. I sort of half expected it would be out by now. When I wrote about it the other day I thought it was on its last legs. I really thought I would find a dark room the other night. It is still coming on, albeit weakly but seems determined to keep burning until it can't burn anymore. It reminds me of Jersey's last day.
Though she was physically spent, her spirit was very much alive. When I carried her into the backyard on that Tuesday afternoon, it was very obvious she enjoyed being outside. The fresh air and sunshine seemed to bring her relief and a sense of contentment. It almost appeared to revive her spirit. She lay on her blanket in the grass, her ears at attention, her nose twitching as she caught the different smells in the air. She could hear Alexa and I talking to her; she could hear the sound of the birds. She was aware and drinking in all that was going on around her. I almost thought she was taking it all in so she could have a cherished memory of what her life was like to take along with her.
Her light refused to go out. It burned until the last possible minute.
When the time came it was clear her light was ready to go out. She accepted it. I could not. I didn't realize I was afraid of the dark, the dark from the coming absence of her bright, bright spirit and presence.
It is the same with the candle.
The battery lit flame is practically out of power, yet it continues to shine. The room continues to get darker and darker, yet it continues to shine. The dancing flame is dimmer and dimmer, yet it continues to shine.
One night, I will show up in the doorway and the candle will be out. I will close the door and remember the flame, her light which burned brightly. This time though, I'm not as afraid. Her light still burns within me and illuminates my heart.
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