Heads on shoulders, a silent heaviness settled on the room
Exhausted hearts weighing us down, anticipating the loss that had been threateningly looming over us for years
A kitchen table crowded with food from sympathetic friends, the friends that you don’t listen to anymore
Red eyes and dark circles
Messy hair and naps on your couch
Did you forget the way she used her last ounce of strength to say “I love you”?
Did you forget every holiday spent in your house?
Every Wednesday when you came home to your grandkids?
Christmases lit up with the warmth of a family’s pure love
4th of Julys on your front lawn, towels on the grass and hands over the dog’s ears
Easter eggs hidden in every crevice of your yard after a morning church service
Wednesday afternoons with treats from the Mexican bakery and the TV on full volume
Did you forget your highschool sweetheart?
You were married to her for over 50 years, your origins in a small Chemistry class at the same highschool I attend today
The woman that gave you 3 daughters, and a surprise son later on
The woman that made you better, who would scoldingly say “John” with a smile hiding in her eyes
Reminding you of your manners and calming you down when you got too worked up
The woman that kept your faith alive in a special way
The woman that you watched the life slowly drain from
The woman that was the glue of the family you created
Did you forget? Because now I see you less than once a month
Talking solely about yourself and your new life over swedish pancakes
Now I get cash for every birthday and every Christmas, and nothing but a signature inside a store-bought card
I don’t get an answer to a text
I miss you, but there’s only faint proof of the man I know as Papa
I sit across from you and this stranger that you call “babe”
I plaster the shiniest smile on my face, but I can’t escape the queasiness inside my stomach
She’s so conscious, so careful, she knows I haven’t wanted to meet her, that none of us have
Observing her wrinkles, her short white hair, her thin lipstick
It hits me that she does have the appearance of a grandma, and a lump emerges in my throat
With no grandkids of her own, I’m not willing to play the part
I wish this was easy, but it’s not
Still in neighboring towns, but you are worlds away
I have yet to visit your new house
Rooms that foster your heavily sought rebirth
Rooms that are void of any trace of what you once had, who you once had
Because you can’t bear to be reminded, and maybe that’s why you’ve fled from the people who care about you the most
When you look at us, you see a reflection of her
Weekly visits, walks through the alley or just down a few sideblocks
Opening the back gate and avoiding low-hanging oranges
Or knocking on the door before coming right in, a flash of white fur suddenly at my feet
Movie nights with redbox DVDs, countdowns before cannonballs into the freezing water
Fears of thrashing branches on the guest room window, counteracted by Nana’s prayer and the comfiest bed I’ve ever known
Turned into containers of her possessions left on our back porch with barely any explanation
A yard sale with my best friend’s life scattered across plastic tables
Shoeboxes holding cards with ink from her pen still on it, signed with “I love you dearly”
Long texts offering fun nights of dinner and live musicals
Trying to be polite as this new woman rambles on, nodding when appropriate, cringing at the awkward pauses
Always wishing it could be her instead
Did you forget to feel your feelings?
Did you forget to process your grief?
Grief is curled up, living in my front pocket
Grief clings to your back, waiting to be acknowledged
You went to a therapist once, and never again
You downloaded a dating app
You traveled across the country
You didn’t come to Thanksgiving
You didn’t call
You tried to hide her, but I saw that picture on your phone
I never mentioned it, because I didn’t want to believe it
You don’t have a beard, you don’t have the spark in your eye
I don’t receive prickly kisses on the top of my head
I don’t hear you snoring on the sofa
I drive past your home, of my childhood and try not to look
Only echoes of memories remain amidst the walls, no physical evidence of the abundance of personality that once occupied the space
You’ve started a shiny, brand new life with almost no room for me
I’m just a dog-eared page in a book you don’t want to take off the shelf
Did you forget that I love you?
I know people grieve in different ways, but on the outside you seem to not grieve at all
You flee from your memories like a deer from a hunter, you are too afraid to look up and see your reality
On your wedding day, that dreaded day in April with all its flashy, exaggerated features
My solemn eyes will follow your fiance as she treads down the aisle towards you
Tears streaming down my face,
But they will not be tears of joy
--Bellamy Z., 9th-12th Grade