20 August 2013

February 4th

He is in a bathrobe. He coughs and wheezes and hiccups, that is the only normal. The rest is red eyed and tight lipped. Pacing back and forth; moments finding the busy work of straitening up nothing in particular. He eventually opens the front door, looking off into nothing. Unsteady beats of steam off his mouth. I rub his shoulder and hold his shaking arm. I can not stop his body.
Staring silently at photos from the wall, the clumsy frames giving unneeded weight to a photo. He ends up in the back porch, in the dark, staring at a skyline of ski trail lights. Whimpering softly and muttering between breaths and sniffles. I know he is crying inside, stoic and weak in alternating moments. I can not stop his mind.
I can not.
It is not about me. 
Not about my sister, or my brothers, my nieces or my nephew. We have all had a loss.
It is about reminding him, in the dark,
as he lays in her side of the bed;
that he is not alone.

No comments: