#writeyourgrief into a monthly prompt from Megan Devine at Refuge in Grief.
When I first read this prompt I had a much different line to pull, but I couldn’t get this one out of my head--an animal who runs and hides. That’s you. Was you. Was.
When we spoke on the phone, I could feel your anxiety building until you panicked and ended the call as quickly as possible. My own anxiety appreciated the end of the conversations because while I always knew that you loved me, you didn’t know me like you should have, so sometimes I just didn’t answer the phone. I couldn’t make myself go through the whole routine of mostly small talk which makes me uncomfortable especially when I’m small talking with my own dad. Correction: When I was. Was.
I know how terrible this sounds, but I did not treasure those phone calls. It was a gauge of how you were doing and a reminder of your absence. The phone calls weren’t easy.
We had more quality time in these final months than we’ve had for probably a couple of decades. But--again--I suck at small talk, so I didn’t have a lot to say. We were together, though, and that counts for something. You got to see Sunny Lou, your little prizefighter, and see how your description of her name definitely suits her. You got to play cards with Asher and talk football. You got to see some of Elliott’s art, but I don’t think you got to talk music. This shouldn’t have been a whole event. All of our memories with Grandpa Gregg should not fit in a neat little paragraph.
I was hopeful after your first hospital stay. I knew you were very sick and that your time was ticking down, but maybe you’d get years. Maybe some really great years. But no.