I read the following from Space.com’s article, “Quantum Entanglement: Love on a Subatomic Scale,”
The basic idea of quantum entanglement is that two particles can be intimately linked to each other even if separated by billions of light-years of space; a change induced in one will affect the other.
Jesse Emspak (2016)
In order to process our thoughts and feelings about death, we try to understand it in terms we know. For me, it’s through my understanding of time and distance that I try to understand her death.
Rebecca was with me and now she is not.
Time: May 18, 2019, was the last time I held her in my arms. 287 days. 2 hours and 5 minutes.
Distance: Close and far.
As we go about life, we’re leaving impressions and memories. There are echos of ourselves that we leave as we move about during our days on this earth. People perceive us and the impressions of our voice, smile, temper, thoughts, touch and so on–their sensory receptors collecting each particle of what makes us–us.
Memories are created by cellular activity. Cells are made of trillions of atoms. Atoms never die.
I wrote a poem many years ago, “How to Make a Memory.” It was about my brother, John.
Before my brother died, on his deathbed, I held his hand and tried to memorize every detail.
The whorl of his fingerprint. The unusual shape of his thumb.
His face and strong chin. The freckles had a sheen of sweat. His sandy brown hair and the scar from his surgery that went from one ear all the way over his head to the other ear.
I put his right hand to the right side of my cheek and I breathed in. The impression of him is in my head. The molecular makeup of John impressed into my brain, heart, and soul.
The echoes of Beck float around me. I breathe in and out and she is with me. Quantum Entanglement–she is a particle that is connected to me and I with her.
Atoms never die.