But “where are you going? Daddy.”
The words repeating under her breathe…
Mommy called.
Babysitters coming,
She’ll bring a pizza, and play a game.
Grandma. “why is she here.”
Whispers are exchanged outside, little ears don’t need to hear such
Business
Grandma. Leaves.
Mommy doesn’t come home till,
Later than usual.
With grandma.
We gather around the table.
Something is to be said.
…
“wheres daddy?’
Agenda:
Item #1: Padres Presence.
Guys… papas… gone.
Tears, like the murderous blow to a jugular, flows from my eyes.
It was merely those words that brought forth her reaction.
Not the actually death. How are you supposed to respond… to that? Those words?
She was only 15, adults can take it with dignity, but she just a babe.
Faces, they just saw, her.
They just, couldn’t, wouldn’t, didn’t know how to act.
Item #2: profanity.
The cause of a life to pass on,
“please, why couldn’t it have been sickness, car crash, murder?
Just not that. Anything but
…please.
I awoke, in a tent, the fresh summer grass, its Wednesday.
Its also Wednesday, every drop of blood, only to cope with the hole in her childish heart
Endorphins they say: makes her heart beat.
…Now she hurts on the outside too.
Year later, as the heart beats, the pain is back, like an ol war wound.
The memories fade, the pain grows strong.
I hereby commit my life to saving those who struggle with depression, and helping the families of those who couldn’t get help.
I know how you feel, I love you.