~I’ve been writing about you for 721 days now.
I can’t seem to stop.
The words keep coming.
They gush from my body like something dark, burning, urgent.
They empty out.
And then they fill back up.
You see, I have so much to tell you, so much to say.
For example, Mike killed you.
I remember I called Janelle and said— “Mike killed Kay Mike killed Kay Mike killed Kay.”
I don’t know anything after that.
Perhaps I fell to my knees. Perhaps I hung up. Perhaps I died.
He walked up behind you and shot you three times in the head.
That beautiful healthy head.
The son-of-a-bitch couldn’t even look you strait in the face…
…because he knew if he did, you’d fight him. Oh, God, how you’d fight him.
Daddy misses you.
Sometimes I notice the sadness deep within his seventy year old brown eyes.
And when I do, every organ inside my body screams out in agony.
Mom mourns through baking.
She hasn’t stopped since your murder. She is continuously measuring, stirring, kneading, and cracking eggs into something sweet and creamy.
She bakes ultimate chocolate chip cookies, buttermilk cakes, pumpkin breads, & raisin bran muffins.
She told me her womb feels incomplete.
She told me there is an empty space where you once were.
Some people have alleged that mourning ends, gets easier, fades with time.
It does not. It does not. It fucking does not.
It is only born.
It is only born into the world with its rotten fangs and foul breath and a long black cape…
flowing behind it like a devil.
But it makes you surrender.
It makes you fall to your knees when you have no place else to go.
It makes you cry out wordless weeping prayers.
It makes you come face to face with your God.
It makes you give Him everything….everything….
Everything you have left to give.