Cribnotes for a Saturday Morning

​A memory hits. Sit in bed. Grief. Grief. Grief. Tears. More tears. And breathe. Another memory. Grief. Grief. Guilt. Tears. Breathe. Daughter brings me coffee. Breathe. Smile. Stillness. That memory you forgot. Grief. Grief. Regret. Grief. Weep. Breathe. Stillness. Stumble on photographs. Smile at first. Go down a small rabbit hole of nostalgia. Waves of grief. Breathe. Another Wave. Daughter cradles your head while you bawl. Breathe. Breathe. BREATHE. Don’t let it sweep you under. Son brings a small sundae and a forehead kiss. Hear that one song. Grief. A ‘what if’ question. Puppies become a weighted blanket on purpose.

This body mourns.