Two years of my father’s absence and I still count him in as if he’s physically here. It took four days for me to stop panicking as his breathing softened – and that was scary. That was the worst of it. That was blood scratching at my temples. That was a dry throat choking down sobs that stung my skin. That was frantic pacing and questioning and pulling and pushing all at once. Everyone saw the softest part of my broken spirit and couldn’t believe the shock that reverberated through the house. It all broke into a million pieces and I laid my hands in the wreckage without even thinking. Breaking means nothing if you can’t shatter fully. You have to trust that the bleeding eventually stops. I still think about how far I was able to sink without drowning and that haunts me the most. The coldness in the air didn’t bother me that night. I guess it never did.

I’m racing sunlight because once I see it, I feel ill. It does nothing for me. I hate the morning because it reminds me that mourning begins digging at your skin, begging you to wake the fuck up- I still have nightmares every night. Lately, I’ve been thinking about my dads brothers- how their hands look just like his and the laugh lines creeping on the corners of their mouths were from him too. I think most people would find this sad. Maybe they couldn’t look through that type of lens without a slice of their heart falling into their stomaches. But, I bask in the familiarity. I ask them if they feel the same way- if they even notice at all.

My friends always ask me if I remember every detail of what happened. How I could ever look at the world the same way. And everything went quiet in my body because when good things leave, a part of you dies too- and you need to be okay with burying a part of yourself.

The other day someone asked me how my father was doing- they must not have heard my screams two years ago. I smiled at them and said he’s doing well. There’s beauty in knowing I’m right about that. I didn’t have to pick at a scab or lie to a stranger. Even though I’m not resting in peace, I know that he is. I walked away in silence and I’m less concerned by how that stillness fills a room. I’ll feel better in a few years, I fucking promise. Someone asked me how many of us are in my immediate family and I said “four” without thinking. I guess that’s still true too. It’s still the best number.