I Heart You, You Haunt Me.

No Words

After the service,

people get in line

to tell the family,

"I'm sorry,"

"He was so young,"

and

"Let me know if I can do anything."

I'm one of the

first people

in line

because

I want to get it over with.

His mom is there

and I try to say

"I'm sorry"

like I'm supposed to,

but the words

won't come

from my brain

to my mouth

like they're supposed to.

She looks at me

and I feel her eyes

piercing my heart,

making it hurt

even more.

She probably blames me

like I blame myself.

I can't blame her

for that.

She tries to smile.

She asks politely,

with no feeling,

because she has to say

something,

"Are you okay, Ava?"

I nod,

but inside

my heart is screaming

and kicking

and stomping,

throwing a tantrum

like a two-year-old

because

I am definitely

not okay.

She hugs me.

A quick hug.

A fake hug.

An I'm-only-hugging-you-because-I-don't-know-what-else-to-do hug.

Next,

I hug

the people

Jackson loved

most

in the whole,

wide

world.

His sister,

then his brother.

I tell myself

to be strong.

I should be strong

for them.

But I'm not.

I sob

into Daniel's

black jacket.

"Shhhhhhhh," he whispers.

"You're going to get through this."

Just like his brother,

thinking about me,

not himself.

After that,

I stand alone

and wait for my mom

so we can leave.

There is no line of people coming up to me

to say "I'm sorry"

or "He was so young"

or "Let me know if I can do anything."

It feels like everyone

is looking at me.

What are they thinking?

Do I even want to know?

And then,

like an unexpected rain shower

on a day that's so dry

you can't breathe,

there is Cali

squeezing me tight

and Jessa

holding my hand

and Zoe

rubbing my back.

In that moment,

I realize

a circle of love

is ten times better

than a procession of sorrys.