What Stays

I found out Friday that someone I grew up with passed away in his sleep.

It’s strange what returns when you hear something like that. Not just memories of the person, but a familiarity with the feeling itself. This isn’t new. It’s been happening, in different ways, since I was a senior in high school. Different people, different circumstances, but the same reality showing up again.

It doesn’t feel dramatic. It doesn’t even register as sadness in a clear way. It’s more like a brief shift in everything. The people you knew, the versions of them you carry, stop updating. They hold at a fixed point. What stays with me isn’t “life is short” or any version of that. It’s something quieter. Less resolved. There are people you assume will continue. Not because you think about it directly, but because of how they move through the world. That assumption disappears without warning. No one is exempt from it.

There’s no lesson attached. No clean takeaway. It doesn’t offer anything back. It just occupies space for a while and then recedes.

Contrary to the crate, a pallet doesn’t contain anything. It elevates and exposes at the same time. Whatever sits on it is visible, temporary, and in transit. It exists to support something that is already on its way somewhere else.

Nothing is protected. Nothing is fixed in place. It just holds, briefly.