I was deaf when she asked me to go out with her more often to spend quality time. I’m listening now but it’s too late for me and her. I was unappreciative – though my lot was rough, there were diamonds. I’m positive I was dealt a great hand despite my misfortunes – I don’t take the good stuff for granted anymore. . .
I wonder what you see when you look at me. Can you tell? Can you see it in my eyes? When I’m on the train, and my forehead suddenly creases, can you tell it’s from the unwelcome memory of my mother’s final moments filling up my brain, my body. . .
But death got greedy. It swept the cities, it took the young, the old, the innocent. Not two years after taking her mother, death swept michal's father in its arms, and closed his eyes, and though michal held on tightly, she was not strong enough, and so death whisked away her home, and burned her soul, and filled the clouds with rain and stole all the love that michal's parents gave her and vanished it, forever. . .
I never saw you after your death
I had the choice
But my imagination of what you’d look like is just that
Imagination
Not reality
So I chose not to look
Not to make real my biggest nightmare
But just because I chose not to see the aftermath
Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen
It doesn’t take away the sound of my mother’s wailing
My father through broken cries
Telling me you didn’t make it
There are no more surprises. I don't wonder anymore because… I know. I know what the darkness of losing your parents feels like. It means losing out on milestones, on prom pictures and graduations. It means losing out on "family" vacations because pieces of your family are missing. It means losing your sense of safety in the world. Losing confidence that you have what it takes to be here alone. . .
…this memory teaches me that when all is said and done, happiness comes from the simple, quiet moments. All I need is a place to call home; people to call home. People and relationships are the most important things to me, then and even more so now. . .
Your kiss on my cheek. Your hugs around my shoulders. Your enthusiasm. You were always so proud of us. You’d hang up our grades on the fridge, even if they weren’t even that great. The cake you bought me for my driving test. The words on the cake. “New driver, beware.” the sushi you had delivered. the cookies you ordered for me on my birthday, from the hospital during your chemo session. . .
Brace yourself. Every drop that hits the floor will turn into a tidal wave. But look to your left. Your husband – your heart. Look to your right. Your brother, your father – your home. Look behind you. Your cousins and closest friends – your spirit. Look in front of you. Your grandmothers, your tias. They will guide you from this day forward. These are the ones that will never let you drown. . .
Our symphony was complicated - a thread built on both trust and fear, constantly pulling on both ends. Growing up, I put all my trust in him - he was my protector, my father, my constant pillar of strength. As the world got smaller, condensed into hospitals, illness, and looming death, the thread was twisted and re-knotted. Suddenly, he put his trust in me. And my fear of him - once so strong and big, turned smaller until it evaporated. . .
It’s the stillness of my heart and the clenching of my stomach as I imagine the tubes - those dialysis tubes in my father’s neck I won’t sleep, I can’t breathe It’s the image of my mother’s eyes filled with terror It’s the image of my father in his hospital bed, needles in both arms, hands spread out in defeat His tears so silent, I can never unhear them. . .
This year, as I ask of G-d the same, for life, I will wish for a year of living. Of connection. Of feeling. Grief. Loss. Love. Hope. Sadnesss. Joy. All the messy human feelings, because that’s what I think, means living.