The Lions World Vision Institute let your dad know they donated your eyes. Your eyes. Your eyes, the color of Puget Sound no matter the weather, grey on dark days and vibrant on sunny ones. Your eyes color-coordinated with nature and now someone is dissecting them to understand how to prevent corneal degeneration. I want to tell myself that you would have been excited to know your eyes were helping others. It feels like that story, the story of your glee at being part of medical science, would be simpler and more hopeful. But to think your joy at the idea is to also marinate in the fact that you died before you were supposed to. Those two things cannot exist at the same time. I know you wanted to donate your body to do whatever good it was certainly not doing for you, but I also know you should still be here. You would not have knowingly left me here wondering what you think about the removal of your eyes from your body. You were proud of your eyes. It was consistently the one feature you felt was beautiful.

When I read the text notification about your eyes, I just ended a massage. Massage is the only place I receive touch in a meaningful way since you died. I never realized how much touch was a part of my life until it was gone. I threw my purse over my shoulder, checked my phone and upon seeing the update from your dad, the image of you in a cremation chamber without your aquamarine eyes popped into my brain. I cannot unsee it. Just like the image of your body in the hospital bed, expressionless, your eyes half open and tears pooling to hydrate them, all sparkle blotted out. Like dirty paint water. There are moments of your death I do not go a day without remembering. I guess now your eyeless body is one of them. I cannot even get a massage without confrontation by your death. I resent you for it. I resent everyone else who is not experiencing this.

Today, I zoomed in on a picture of your face to validate I do remember the color of your eyes. I am scared I will forget, so I am glad there are pictures to remind me. I zoomed too quickly and suddenly your face was as wide as the computer screen. We were face to face in an uncanny familiarity. Yet another reminder of how much I miss you.