My Story

8 Years

So much can change or stay the same in 8 years.

8 years we grew together, & now 8 years we are an eternity apart.

8 years ago I held my breath & held in my sobs as he walked us in. I nearly broke my hand, or my phone, trying to grab hold of something, anything else to focus on other than what I knew we'd find in the next room. I focused on the little things...the blood and glass in your ear, the huge lumps on your forehead, how flat your chest was, barely hearing the explanation that there was nothing of you left past the length of your shirt. You were there, I knew it was you...and yet you were gone, and no request for you to come back would be heard by anyone with a shred of mercy, because there wasn't even half a shell left to hold the vibrant life you had been living just 1 week ago.

I didn't run from that room, but I didn't dally either. I hurried to the bathroom where I could sob, weep, nearly hurl on my own. Because Mom was already beside herself, and Dad too logically and clinically dry to be a comfort. I had to get my sorrow out as fast as I could, to attempt to be strong for Mom, as best as I was able.

What was worse was I could smell you, see the smoke rising, curling, growing into a taller and taller tower, pillar, column of smoke and steam and flesh as they tolled electronic bells to send you on your way. The simplest of wooden boxes, the size of a textbook is where you now lay. Nothing but ash and dust in your father's house, perched on a shelf is where you stay.

8 long years have come and gone, and yet I still say that I dread this day. June 16th, October 30th, November 6th, are ever etched deep in my mind, scarred deeply through what little peace and joy I find, holding back a full-fledged smile, knowing that you never made it this far in life, won't see another sunrise, won't be there with me on the happy days, won't cry beside me on the worst days.