Table for One

table for six

. . .

snow

02.14.2021

. . .

when they moved upstate, she was okay with it.
the air quality is better there, they said. it's better for his health.

when his hospital trips became more frequent, and each visit increased in length, she was okay with it.
the doctors know what to do now, they said. he'll get better soon.

when she wasn't allowed to see him anymore, she was okay with it.
too many germs, they said. just wait a little longer.

but as the air turned cold, they turned away and he didn't get better.

he stayed at the hospital full time now, and she couldn't see him.

she spent her days at home, her younger brothers and sisters running around, trying to keep her mind off of their father.

don't worry, alex, her mother whispered, running a hand through her unkempt hair. he'll be okay. we'll be okay.

but why did it sound like a question?

days turned into weeks, and the sky turned a paler blue by the second, grey clouds overtaking the frigid atmosphere.

it was almost as if nature was in sorrow with her; was feeling the loss of his presence.

but the sky here, the sky upstate, only knew her father being sick.

the sky here, the sky upstate, didn't know his warm smiles, or his saturday morning pancakes, or his soulful singing at the sunday service.

the sky here, the sky upstate, didn't know how he would gather all his children in front of the fireplace, fiddle in hand, and sing cheerful tunes with his knee bouncing enthusiastically to the melody.

the sky here, the sky upstate, didn't know how his eyes would twinkle when he looked at his wife; at his larger-than-normal family, how they glassed over for just a moment, as if he knew everything would suddenly shatter, suddenly break and fall apart as quick as the seasons turn.

so how could the sky here, the sky upstate, be mourning, if it didn't know?

you can see him now, they said.

and she burst into tears as she looked at her father.

skin pale, eyes weary, beard trimmed.

she cried as she held his hands, looked into his eyes; his eyes so full of hurt.

she wanted him to stay.

she didn't care how much it would cost, how risky it might be, how it might change him as a person.

she wanted him to sit next to her on the couch, the fireplace burning bright, his large, calloused hand holding hers, his presence taking away all her worries.

she wanted him to put her on his knee, just like old times, and sing songs she hadn't heard escape his lips in ages.

she wanted him to smile.

to smile at her, to smile at life, to smile his big smile that could solve any problem, for his deep brown eyes to gleam as he grinned.

she wanted him to tell his unfunny jokes, and she wanted to laugh at them regardless.

she wanted to relive every moment she took for granted; to have him back to normal.

she wanted back the father who told her that he would never leave her side, not ever.

but here he was, so close to making it to the bottom of the staircase.

she knew she was being selfish.

but she wanted to be selfish.

because sometimes it's okay to be selfish.

and as the first snow fell, she was on her knees, a hand on her shoulder, clutching white flowers tightly as she wept over his grave.

she couldn't bring herself to look up, as the words she saw only once had already ingrained itself a place in her mind.

in loving memory of alex sommers.
12.16.1968 to 12.15.2018
the inevitable is that unprepared for;
i'll see you on the other side of the stars

and the snow continued to fall; her cheeks continued to glisten.

and the clouds were still grey; the nights still dark.

and although the song had stopped playing long ago, the melody lingered on.

and she waited, for the light to turn on and the sky to turn blue.

and she waited, for the clouds to part and the birds to sing.

and she waited, for the sun to shine and her eyes to smile.

and she waited.

until we meet again.