In truth, her eyes seemed to shine brighter as her body shrank. Being in her presence was like nearing an intense light whose field of warmth would radiate into our emptiness. The more she struggled to stay alive, the more she bathed us all with this intense and Universal light. Soon, her battered, tired body seemed a buoy, marking where she was diving into waters humans still alive can rarely go, and then she’d surface saturated with this light which would pour from her eyes. At times, it seemed those incandescent eyes were holding her up.

We helped each other stay alive. We let each other cry and rage, and urged each other to go where no one else could go—into the heart of our own survival. The lifeboat had its fire by which we kept each other warm and, as is inevitable in such touchings, no one could really discern who the fire belonged to; though we are certain each put a piece of him or herself in to keep that fire going.

Today, the birds woke me, more beautiful for your passing. Where are you, Nur? All week I’ve felt empty and alive, useless and fingered like dirt. All week I’ve heard you whisper behind piano music, unlacing my heart. We’re more for knowing you and less for losing you. How can this be—more and less at once? Amber says, in your last lucid moment with her, you dismissed the morphine, acknowledging it erased the pain, but lamenting the loss of feeling, knowing without the feeling, however bad, you must be nearing death.