And this is the way you survive losing a father.
4am. Icy air. Whispering trees.
And this is the way you drive to an abandoned place.
Eyes swollen shut. Blank Faces. Sleepless nights.
And this is the way you stop listening to all the beeping, the screaming.
To walk into a room without falling to your knees.
To hold a hand of an absent creature.
And this is the way to follow a heart pound.
As if it weren’t the only sign he was still there.
To leave for just a moment.
To cry as you listen to the sounds of someone die.
And this is the way to come back, to a sheet, a face, a slowing beat.