My mom would often wake me when i was sick.
Before i opened my eyes I knew it was her.
The coolness of her palm relieved some of the discomfort I felt.
The smell of soup filled the room.
I never really cared for Chicken Noodle Soup.
But then I remembered.
The feeling of my mothers palm on my forehead.
How safe and cared for I felt .
The room is dark
My mothers palm does nothing for the pain.
With strained eyes i look down
Soup gets saltier only by the second.
As salt rained down on my bowl.
The pitter patter only getting worse.
My moms voice louder by the second.
I just wanted chicken noodle soup.

I often think about you,
I get home from work
and still hear your soft snores
coming from down the hall.
the soft murmur of the tv
and the sound of your footsteps
followed by the dogs.
I remember how I fell to my knees that night.
I wanted to scream.
Cry.
anything.
but the silence that filled the house still impacts me to this day.
I often think about you when I drive home from work.
Work.
I should've gone home that night.
Maybe you'd still be here if I did.