on grief

They put the tea on because they know you’re on your way. You grab your jacket, I wait by the door.

Before you go, can you show me where I look to turn the breaker back on if we run the blow dryers at the same time again? And quickly show me where we keep the lightbulbs? Does this picture frame need a screw or will a nail do? Do you think if I move the clothes out of it you could take my old dresser out of the closet?

You don’t have time for all this but I continue;

When is it time to change my tires? How do I make sure the hoses won’t freeze up in the winter? What if the bank calls and tells me I can increase my credit limit, should I do it? Can you quickly explain to me why the democrats want to get rid of fracking? And also what is fracking? Do you think I’m on the right career path? Should I be investing part of my paycheque? What is that noise coming from the furnace? Can you check it out I can’t sleep if it’s clicking all night? 

You sit patiently with me, I know you have to go.

Can you open all the jars in the whole house? And mow the lawn? Can you help me move my bed from the wall to the window? Can you fill up my water bottle? Can you make popcorn on the stove or show me how? Can you tell me about where you were on 9/11? What were your thoughts? What channel is deadliest catch on again? How do I record it? Can you run me through the box of wires you’ve got behind the TV, just in case we need them one day? 

I don’t know if you’ll come back tomorrow. But if you do,

Can you pick me up from the bar? Can we grab dinner? Can I ask about your childhood? Can you tell me things you’ve never said before? Are you scared? I’m scared. What are you going to miss the most? I know you think there’s no life after death, what if there is? What if there is a god? What if there’s angels? What if you get to float around in space? What if you come back as a bird and follow me around forever? What if you don’t have to go yet? What if I could come with you? What if a miracle happens tomorrow? What if I forget to have hope? What if I forget to be realistic? What if I just need my daddy?

Without speaking, I ask;

What if it’s because I didn’t pray? What if I stole something and I don’t remember? What is karma? Why do you deserve this? Why do I deserve this? Why do healthy people die? Why do young people die? Why does it have to be my family? What set of circumstances led to this moment? What if I was at home on the twenty third of May? Would it have changed anything? What if you were born one second later? What if I was? When is it going to get harder? When is it going to get easier? How do I brace for impact? How do I be brave? How do I miss you? Do I have to miss you for eternity? How do I make sure I am present while you’re here?

I’m sorry I won’t ever know what that room was like. Not in time to feel the fear you feel. I won’t ever know how strong you’ve had to be, if I can see it on the surface now I can’t even imagine what’s going on underneath. I won’t know how much it took for you to ask us to drive you around, or grab your water when you didn’t have the strength. I won’t know if you really slept OK last night. I won’t know if you’re napping or just closing your eyes with the grief. I can’t imagine what you’re losing. 

I can’t imagine missing out on a life you’d planned. A life I’d planned. The grief you feel for your friends and family. The grief you feel for yourself. The fear you feel looking down the barrel. I picture you as a little boy and I weep. I imagine you wanting your mommy. I know I would. I imagine you looking for answers even now. I imagine you being afraid about not finding them. I imagine you finding immense hope in small places, and the crash of the wave when you find the statistics. I imagine all the math in your head. I imagine numbers crumbling at the feet of hope. I imagine hope crumbling at the feet of time. I would stop time if I could. I would change the statistics. I would make it better. I would take some. I would share with you. I would come with you. I would wait for you. I would find a seat and stare at the door for all of eternity if you’d walk through it. I would give it all up. I would trade my brain. I can’t know. I can never know, there’s not a day that I won’t try. 

There’s not a day that I won’t try.