prichard

last night claire called from dad’s phone to say you’re gone and i cried half as hard as i wanted to, for fear my love would unravel in a room that could not hold it.
i don’t want to hold this in, but still i’m stunted. I’m reserved and holding back something. maybe it won’t come until I’m home and I see the empty living room, you’re 8oz coffee mug with chipped rim, upside down and dry in the rack, your pajamas folded on the bed. and you, not coming soon or ever again while I’m on this earth.
grief like this is sifting flour, slow and delicate. it comes in tiny sections, filling up like an hour glass full of sand, but not so steady.
I miss you already. I knew the last time claire and i kissed you on the forehead would be it. i knew i couldn’t come home again and feel your warm shoulder so bony in my palm. but i wanted to, wanted to deny your body would give up before i could come home again.
Grampy, I adore you. I simply adore every bit of your being and now, it not being, I might love you more.
I miss the way your skin smells just after you shave. I miss the back of your slender neck and the silky white hairs that curved behind your ears when you need a cut.
I’m lucky to have loved you these past few years, to know how much I wanted to learn about you and to ask instead of putting it on a list of things to do next year. I don’t regret. I asked everything I wanted to.I love you.

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