It Is What It Is | Flash Fiction

Aubrey. I’m dead. It is what it is.

It sucks.

I raised you to live your life with no regrets but I’m realizing too late that any thinking person who gives a damn is going to have his regrets. We make choices. Some of them hard. Forget what I said about no regrets. People who care are going to have regrets. I have them, too.

I am trying to imagine how you must feel, watching this message. Me on a screen telling you things I could have easily told you in person. We talked every night. Sometimes I called you. Most times you called me. I need you to know how good it felt to get those calls or the texts and emails. It felt good to know you were thinking of me, making room for me in your life even when you lived so far away. That room was my world. It was everything.

But now, I’m dead and you are wondering why I didn’t tell you I was dying. It isn’t easy to explain. I wanted you to know, but I didn’t want to bring that into our special space. I just wanted to be what I was for as long as I could be.

And I had work to do. Important work that I couldn’t share. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you. I just didn’t want it to swallow your life until it had too.

When your mother died, I promised I would raise you to be brave and strong and curious. I raised you to be kind. To take care of others. And I am so proud of the person you are. It is my sweetest reward.

I always told you not to worry yourself with whether or not there is a God. A God who needs you to believe so much without seeing isn’t a God worth knowing.

I was wrong. There is a God. He just doesn’t like us all that much.

Sorry. I’m rambling. Its the medication. They’ve got me on these pills that mix my head up, make it hard to think. Everything I used to do easy comes much harder now.

When you see this, I’m already dead. But I want to tell you things about my life I never took the time to tell you. I’ve been reading a lot of philosophy. Its bullshit, mostly. But useful bullshit. It puts your life in perspective. It teaches you to think about yourself realistically. Most people walk around clutching their religion to help themselves feel important or they spend their lives angrily pushing it away to help themselves feel important.

We aren’t important. But we have importance. We can do important things.

This isn’t what I want to tell you. I’m getting tired and I’m afraid I’ll leave something out. Something you will need to know. You’re so smart. You’ll figure it out.

None of them are alike. Each of them has a different story, a different need. Treat them individually. Get to know them. They won’t always tell you what they need. They won’t usually know. Take the time to figure it out.

Every one of them has fallen such a long way. Every one of them has been marked by that fall. Just be the kind person you already are. The rest will be okay.

I’m getting tired. I need to rest. I’ve written a lot of notes to help you figure it out. It is powerful, terrifying work. It is necessary.

I wish I could see you. Tell you these things.

How we used to sit on the porch and watch the night sky. All those shooting stars you tried to wish magic out of. So many times you wanted them to be ghost angel of your mother. I told you they weren’t actually stars or your mother but leftover bits of iron from the leftover universe, which was something even better than magic. We were both wrong.


Now I’m dead, and it is what it is. I just need to say it again.

Every day you made a special place for me and I made a special place for you. Keep carrying me there. But don’t stop with me. Open yourself up. Break yourself open.

It doesn’t matter if there’s a God. There are miracles. I know there are. Let them come in. Feed them. Clothe them. Set them on their way.

Okay. That’s all kiddo. Time to go now.

It is what it is.

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