Some Goodbyes

 

My stomach twists itself into tight little prayers.

My palms damp with the weight of what I can’t say out loud.

Another funeral.

Another goodbye I never asked to make.

I don’t want to walk into that church.

Don’t want to sit in a pew pretending I’m whole.

Listening to an officiant ramble.

About nothing and everything.

While my heart breaks in quiet corners.

I’ve stood in this doorway of grief too many times.

Felt the hush fall over the room.

When the family walks in heavy with sorrow.

I hate the way the air shifts.

How death becomes a familiar guest.

Even when you pray it never shows its face again.

And the gravesite.

Lord.

Watching that casket sink into earth.

Like it’s taking a piece of me with it.

I never know where to put my hands.

My eyes.

My ache.

I just stand there.

Out of place.

Out of breath.

Out of words.

And no, there’s no repast for me.

No small talk over chicken and paper plates.

I don’t socialize after a loss.

I carry my grief home quiet.

Let it curl beside me.

Like a shadow that knows my name.

Some goodbyes I whisper.

Some, I survive.