Silent rooms of bleary eyes, empty tissue boxes, muffled sniffles, trite conversation.
Did you, um, lock the door? Put the food away? Feed the dog?
All the while avoiding the bone of contention.
First it's surgery, then there’s a 50% possibility, then 12-24 hours.
We just don’t know
What to do
How to do it
Where to begin.

Sullen, morose countenances that may never again form a smile.
Consciously wash my hands of all impurities as I enter the ICU,
in another lifetime that is, the I will never see you again, as is.
Feel knots in the back of my throat, the pit of my stomach,
as I see you laying in a bed, robbed of all dignity by the enigma of this medical equipment.
Keep my eyes downcast to avoid this deploring vision.
“We had a rough time this morning, Dani.” My grandfather breathlessly whispers.
Attempt to conjure a smile, but after awhile it becomes apparent that I all can muster is melancholy.
Feeling hollow inside, my father’s eyes are vacant.
His body glides along but his spirit is long gone.
“What am I gonna do?” he mutters.
My aunt proclaims, “How can God be so cruel?”
To leave them without a mother.
I wallow in this scenery, let this mood get the best of me.
Find myself breaking down.
To see my father, virile in every way, pulled down
into a fetal position, weeping and whimpering, as if life could never proceed again.

I lose my resilience.

Mustered the will to gather the emotional supplies to weather this storm.
Reminisced on times before, when loved ones moved on.
Reminded of my uncle’s brawl with AIDS.
He held out for as long as he could, but at the end he got that one-two punch that did him in for sure.
Within months, my grandfather initiated a one-on-one street game with cancer.
Two seconds left on the clock, illegal foul, shot blocked, brisk with the rebound, put it up, score.
Cancer is the victor once more, and grandfather’s out.

I find myself holding back tears.
Removed from the scene, I start to doubt
my emotions.
Why am I so sad? What did she ever do for me?
Dubious about my love and affection cause for me her love never was effective.
Proclaimed me proud and haughty.
Emphasized my every flaw and blemish.
Downsized my achievements.
Turned my accolades into mediocre occurrences.
Never gave the nurturing tenderness so characteristic of a grandmother.

And now I feel hollow again.
I can not mobilize the sorrow within.
It's gotta be there, I’ll definitely feel it soon, but when?
Nah, it’ll come. It’ll come when its official, just then.
3 AM, I get that call.
We did it Dani, we pulled that plug.
She lasted but for so long.
She’s gone,
forever.

Alright, alright. It's coming now,  give it a second more.
Just a little longer, you’ve feel something soon.
You must be in denial, just wait until the wake.
You’ll swell up then, mascara running, mingling with mucus to form a salty solution to your problem.
Propositioned to read at the funeral.
Decline with high hopes, “I don’t know if I can.”
Here comes the wake.
Damn, I must be in shock.
Face is rigid as a rock.
No emotion
to be found.
I’m telling you -the funeral, the funeral will do it.
Compelled by social etiquette to read.
Indeed, I’ll break down.
Enunciated each syllable with such precision, stupefied myself with my oratory skills.

By the burial, realized I could no longer lie to myself.
I can not weep in death, because I did not fancy in life.
I cannot help that I didn’t feel loved.
Can’t help but question her, even from up above?
Guilt weighs me down.
A swirl of shameful thoughts.
Thinking back to all that she said
ill and unjust about me.
Did she ever care?
Each day I realize her death hasn’t impacted me.
At least not how I’ve been indoctrinated to believe it should.

Apparently, grief comes in many forms.