Today was the day
after the big news.
Two days after what
once could have been
a harmless phone call.
Two days ago,
however many years ago,
a late night phone call
stopped the world from turning.
My world screeched to a halt
two days ago
but there was hope.
Hope that the phone call was wrong
that he would come back to us.
Hope that he would have changed,
changed his mind and outlook.
But yesterday,
however many years ago,
all hopes shriveled.
A follow-up call
that he would never come back.
That I would never see him
hug him
or hear him again.
Today is the day,
however many years ago,
the reality
of losing my uncle
would begin to set in.
When I would begin to fear
phone calls after nine.
When I would curl
into a scrunched ball
trying not to scream out.
When I would never
be able to look back
without at least some remorse.

Today is the day,
in the here and now,
that I still cry for him.