A few days before the funeral
I took Grief by its dark hand and out to eat
We settled into a sticky red booth at Waffle House
Listening to the quiet chatter of patrons in silence
The jukebox played some old hymn, with a gentle guitar and a dead man
Grief, head in hands, aching, muttered that she had asked for music in her final days
So, I grabbed one of Grief's skeletal hands and hummed along
I ordered both of us a coffee
As our black aproned waitress waltzed away
Grief, in a trembling voice, made a comment
About how she used to take her coffee with creamer
I poured sugar in both of our cups
I have the same shake in my hand that she did, if a little more subdued
Grief stared at me through hollow, confused eyes
Fork shivering in my pale fingers, I asked what was the problem
And Grief, tears falling to the table, looked me in the eye
Why do you not fight me?
Why do you accept me as I am?
Hideous and fragile and dying, an ever waking reminder of everything you lose
Everything that she took with her in that final breath, all skin and bones and breathing tubes?
I smiled
I took a bite of my waffle, a sip of sweet coffee
We will be together for a while, I said, setting down the chipped cup
Let's just sit for a while
Sit in the mourning, plant her yellow roses together
All the flowers that attract the blue birds she loved so much
Hand in hand
It is all we can do.
