it's saturday night
and we're crowded in a small room
watching her like she's our favorite sad movie.
there are tears pricking our eyes,
there have been for hours,
but we’re not crying.
we’re laughing with each other,
throwing everyone else in the room Looks
to make sure they’re okay,
because that’s how our family is;
we make sure everyone else is okay
before we check on ourselves.
she’s lying in the uncomfortable-looking bed
and she is so small,
smaller than she’s ever been,
even smaller because of the crowded room.
i am sitting on her right
resting my chin on the safety bar
with my hand on hers,
which is too, too warm.
i am watching the way her eyes flicker,
helplessly,
and the way her breath is coming,
so fast,
and aunt shel’s hand on her forehead,
smoothing back her hair.
we are all whispering,
some out loud and others silently,
telling her that it is okay,
she can go,
she doesn’t need to stay.
eventually i am alone with her
and it breaks my ******* heart,
because i know this is the last time
i will hold her hand in mine
and kiss her forehead
and tell her,
in person,
that i love her so much.
i apologize for breaking my promise,
the one i made when i was 8,
and that breaks my heart too,
because maybe she would still be here
if i had kept it.
i know that that’s not true,
papa died and she all but gave up,
and it’s really amazing
that she made it this long
without him.
but still,
it breaks my heart.
when aunt laurie is leaving,
she gives all of us hugs and when
it gets to be my turn,
she whispers in my ear, through her tears,
“you were always my favorite.”
we leave around 8:30 that night,
and we stop at gram’s house
because i need our sally bear
and i need papa’s graduation picture.
it’s only an hour after we get home
that aunt shel is calling mom
to tell her that gram is gone.
i don’t cry.
Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 9:39 PM UTC
it's saturday night
and we're crowded in a small room
watching her like she's our favorite sad movie.
there are tears pricking our eyes,
there have been for hours,
but we’re not crying.
we’re laughing with each other,
throwing everyone else in the room Looks
to make sure they’re okay,
because that’s how our family is;
we make sure everyone else is okay
before we check on ourselves.
she’s lying in the uncomfortable-looking bed
and she is so small,
smaller than she’s ever been,
even smaller because of the crowded room.
i am sitting on her right
resting my chin on the safety bar
with my hand on hers,
which is too, too warm.
i am watching the way her eyes flicker,
helplessly,
and the way her breath is coming,
so fast,
and aunt shel’s hand on her forehead,
smoothing back her hair.
we are all whispering,
some out loud and others silently,
telling her that it is okay,
she can go,
she doesn’t need to stay.
eventually i am alone with her
and it breaks my ******* heart,
because i know this is the last time
i will hold her hand in mine
and kiss her forehead
and tell her,
in person,
that i love her so much.
i apologize for breaking my promise,
the one i made when i was 8,
and that breaks my heart too,
because maybe she would still be here
if i had kept it.
i know that that’s not true,
papa died and she all but gave up,
and it’s really amazing
that she made it this long
without him.
but still,
it breaks my heart.
when aunt laurie is leaving,
she gives all of us hugs and when
it gets to be my turn,
she whispers in my ear, through her tears,
“you were always my favorite.”
we leave around 8:30 that night,
and we stop at gram’s house
because i need our sally bear
and i need papa’s graduation picture.
it’s only an hour after we get home
that aunt shel is calling mom
to tell her that gram is gone.
i don’t cry.
it's been a year and five months and i'm still broken up