Thank you so much!

She always said she would die first.

I guess neither of us could have expected it, a mass shooting at my job and I happened to be behind the guy. I always tried to play the hero.

She didn't cry at first, and that made sense. She was strong, a stone Butch with the confidence of a knight. But the tears surprised her when the ceremonies and family visits were all done with. She was reheating some leftovers, and spotted my notebook on the counter.

Just tasks to get done, project ideas, nothing romantic, but she choked back a sob and scowled at it, the cruel reminder tearing down her defenses.

She seemed to age so much faster, the grey in her hair going from shooting stars in a black sky to pure silver within months.

I wasn't around to pester her about buying new shirts or socks, so she didn't get any, wearing holes in all her clothes, like a tiny rebellion.

But eight months later, the work ran out of overtime, and she didn't have a second or third job to spend her time on.

She watched movies, visited family, all with a numb calm air to her, but when she came home she actually pet the cats, and slept in our bed again.

I saw her browsing our pictures from fun trips and though she wasn't smiling, she wasn't angry.

The world was softening around her.

I rejoiced when she met up with an old friend, out in the woods on a hike. Their conversation was soft, but genuine, the mourning still fresh but I wasn't there to talk to and she was finally seeking contact.

Another friend, newer, stopped by with fast food a few days later, and stayed the night, talking and laughing, sleeping on the couch as she went to our bed.

But the sheets had been washed enough times to lose my scent, and the decorations I put up were just as much hers.

I was starting to fade, finding rest bit by bit.

This wasn't about me. The moment I died, none of the actions of the living were about me. I couldn't feel them. My name might feel like a spark but there was no tinder left in me to kindle the flame.

So I watched her, slowly finding what it meant to laugh again. I watched her first real smile since I'd left. A nervous broken thing that wavered and finally split into a grin.

Who did she love? A woman I'd met a few times, vastly different from me, and in a few small ways opposed to my past ideals, but it wasn't about me. It was about the living, and finally, they were finding the joy in life again, as I slipped away and went happily to my rest.

r/saryis is my personal subreddit, I try to repost my writings there after being posted elsewhere.