Normalize Waking Up Screaming

After the Rust 1 (a series where I navigate the grief of losing my Godmother)

This is the first hard day you’re not here for.

How’d it go? You asked after my first day at my millionth school. I think I made one friend that’s all, I said. You said that’s all I’d ever need. I said I already had you.

Remember when you taught me to listen for the ocean, people will say it’s just air passing through but it’s not, you said. Close your eyes.

This grief is new. You and mom said I was too young to be losing the way that I was but I hadn’t lost like this. Not yet. This is like the day you burnt the mashed potatoes and slipped on the ice in the backyard. Dad’s dead body lying a floor above the Thanksgiving table. I’ve always understood why you didn’t know you dislocated your hip. You couldn’t feel it for days. I’ve always understood why you couldn’t feel it for days.

But, you are something I don’t exist without.

You showed me to the moon.

You are why I love the sky.

Each caretaker goes into the ground and I swear I become less of a Bird.