“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.¬
