Since that day I have always asked myself what I could have done
‘Maybe I should have called’
Or better yet, ‘Maybe you didn’t want me to.’
Perhaps there’s a chance you didn’t know that you were dying
Perhaps you didn’t want to admit it to yourself
What if you were still here?
But I have to remind myself each day that you aren’t, and you aren’t coming back.
I still have your dog.
Does he remember you?
I hope he does.
I’ve shown him your photo countless of times, masking my tears behind a high-pitched interrogation of ‘Do you love Mommy? You remember her, right?’
Your photo is in our living room
I know, you hate that we put it up.
I tried saying that,
But why didn’t you tell us?
Maybe you didn’t know.
I love your dog.
But he’s not mine, he’s yours.
I pet him and play with him as if this was the only house he knew
But he knew yours
The small house on the water,
One of the few places I felt truly at peace
Until the day of your memorial service
When I shouldn’t have had to sprinkle your ashes over a fire,
Or into the ocean.
When I locked myself in your bathroom and sunk to my hands and knees
And could no longer smell the sweet notes of your perfume
When people told me that I was so strong
But maybe I wasn’t
Most definitely I wasn’t
My strength died the day that you did
And I highly doubt I’ll get it back
Until I see you again
Maybe you knew, but maybe I should have been more focused on you than myself
Maybe I should have called when my gut told me to
Because you died in your sleep that night
And I didn’t spare thirty minutes of my ******* life to tell you I loved you.