“You’re being childish” She says to a child. In my mind, That suited this particular situation better than Sitting in grief stricken silence While the steady beat of the ECG by your bedside replaced the noise of conversations lost.
Showing that I was sad Wouldn’t changes these circumstances, Wouldn’t raise your body from the stark sheets that matched your skin in tone and texture, Wouldn’t prove to some all-knowing God that this was unfair, Certainly wouldn’t make anyone feel better.
Even then, I knew there were different words for the same thing. I knew the feeling of lungs giving out after a solid-steel punch to the gut Was synonymous with the realization there would be no more palm tree Christmases in Leesburg. I knew the ache after falling off the front porch balcony coincided with The spasms of remorse I felt knowing I’d missed the chance to apologize for every pocket sized mistake I’d made. And I knew that not having the capability to convey these words with my 8 year old vocabulary, Meant I was childish.¬