8/16/17

I. For the last year, mom has always caught sight of the dead things on the side of the road. The ones that never made it to safety. I never saw them, always just the crows flying overhead or the deer peeking through the bushes. The dead things didn’t exist to me. Two weeks have gone by, and I’ve seen every body we pass by. My mom doesn’t comment on them anymore, and just like that the dead are left unspoken, because I don’t say anything about them either.

II. We don’t grieve the same way. The day we found out I left mom by herself because this house makes me feel like I’m drowning now. All I can taste are my tears. She wants to go through this together but I don’t think her way works for me. The empty house feels emptier than before, and I think it’s because it’s the one house you never got to see.

III. I want to be able to ask you how it feels.

IV. I wonder how many dead things I missed over the years. So many things didn’t make it like they should’ve. I didn’t think I’d have to add you to list so soon.

V. What happens when you don’t know when the grieving stops and starts?