The Earth Has Swallowed Me

People have a nice expression for situations of imminent trouble: “sinking feeling”. In a single breath, it apprehends the nature of the situation and captures the accompanying physiological sensation—an ominous slowing and heightening of the senses, especially the heart. We’ve all felt it before.

But beyond a certain point, one’s heart no longer sinks. Beyond a certain point, a trap door flings open between your feet and your heart just drops straight into it and disappears. It’s a feeling that passes through you before you can feel it, a sensation faster that thought, but with such terrifying force that it strips you of your emotional capacity to react.

I really wish I could tell you today about how I spent—or intended to spend my 26th birthday, looking out at the world from my secret place on a 26th floor, ruminating over the lessons of life I’ve gleaned from the past year.

But all I can tell you about today is the new sensation I experienced when the phone call came two nights ago, informing my family that cousin died suddenly.