My Dad died.

My Dad died and it’s like I’ve been severed… like I’m this half-worm, writhing, wondering where half of me went, and then I see her, the other half-worm, sitting beside him, holding his hand, holding back her tears, holding on for dear fucking life as he tells her she’ll always be his sweet baby girl, and that she was too hard on herself and to give herself more credit, and then he sighs and says he doesn’t how he’s gonna do it. The tests they’ve scheduled, he doesn’t know how he can get through them because he’s tired… he’s just so tired, baby girl. And the half-worm is brave and opens her mouth and tells him it’s okay. He can say no. He doesn’t have to keep fighting.

And I want to scream at her, tell her to shut up Shut Up SHUT UP because we’ll never be whole again, we’ll never not be these severed, bloody halves separated by the last time he was alive and talking and smiling with those blue, blue eyes of his and the time he came home in a can, a cold grey metal house for his cold grey ashes. We’ll never not be these two scars of two different lives, one with the sunshine and one without it. I want to scream and hit and kick her for letting him go, for being so fucking brave why were you so fucking brave didn’t you know??

Didn’t you know? Didn’t you get it? You stupid, bloody half-worm, didn’t you know we’d have to be brave forever?

REFUSAL TO MOURN

In lieu of
flowers, send
him back.

ANDREA COHEN

ANDREA COHEN

You know the drill! An innocuous-enough dream that upon waking slaps you straight across the face.

I’ve always been an other worldly type dreamer. And I guess now that still stands. But leave it to grief to flip the whole goddamn script.