Times II

In the quiet hours
I tried to look at your photos
but not today.

I feel panicked. Raw.

I get caught up in imagining your last moments
What did you know?

Did you feel like you couldn’t breathe? (because you couldn’t)

So you went outside (did you struggle for breath? Or did you just “fall asleep and die?”)

Were you dreaming about your wedding?

I read the autopsy report. My god what a difficult read. Why did I read it? Because I needed to understand why my daughter was dead at 31 years old…I didn’t read it to bury myself with her or to walk through some gauntlet but simply to try to fathom how my child was gone. And I really realize why we don’t use euphemisms when delivering death notifications – tell me she’s “gone” and my mind immediately asks, “when is she coming back?” But she’s not. Maybe I’ll go to her someday but that’s another rumination.

I get caught up in this drowning feeling and I imagine what your last moments must’ve been like…that keeps coming to the forefront of my brain – your last moments. As your birthday approaches, those crucial first moments of your life replay without restraint and then here comes your last moments. You shouldn’t have been alone.

The sun is up
and the day has begun.

Do I sit in the misery?

Do I step into the light?

Can I share both and straddle the line between life and death? How can I still have you in my life without you here?

Published by Kate B

I am trying to integrate my loss with life...

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