Helium

My grandmother sorrowfully said to me “He had such a beautiful mind”. But we all noted how as his mind slipped away, it revealed such a beautiful heart.

When my dad died, a chunk of my grandfather's heart broke off and fell away as my dad's soul drifted into the ether. It fell among his son's ashes, stirred along with it in the memorial garden to live among the flowers and roots, diving deeper into the soil with each passing rain.

The day my grandmother slipped away, he must've somehow felt her soul take flight of him: fluttering softly like a butterfly having just found its wings. Though he consciously didn't understand who she was, he must've felt the lack of her and been at a loss to explain it. He noted though, that as the pieces of him fell away, he somehow felt heavier instead of lighter. Being an engineer, he thought “Helium. Our souls must be made of helium.”

It's as if the hearts we cling to hold us up on strong shoulders, lightening the weight under our footsteps. As they leave us, we grow heavier. Pockets full of rocks.

And as he lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, he suddenly knew where to find his wife and son. He shook himself free from his old body and the weight of the world, looked toward the sky and let his soul be captured by the passing stars.