It was the middle of the night. It always is. A phone call too late to be good news or a friendly chat. At first, you’re fine. An odd goodnaturdness taking over. It’s bewildering. Almost frightening. A instinctive way for your mind to hide from this devastating blow.

Then the tears come and they don’t stop. They jeep fading trying to lull you with trickery. 

There is no pain as great as sitting on a cold hospital floor, crying until you gasp for breath. When the ones you love are grouped around you, their own tears lingering. Short hugs and looks of pity as they stay their distance. As if misery and uncontrollable sobs are contagious.

The nurses have painted faces of compassion. They mean well but they do not feel this gash in your heart. In a moment, they will forget this display of pain. I cannot escape.

A friend offers sweetened, exaggerated words from a distance. Giving me a square of silk to stop the bleeding of a flesh wound. It is meaningless. I cannot even read it.

It is wretched to be alone and miserable with your sleeves soaked in your own snot and tears. 

Driving the path to his house, realizing the tear in my heart is far deeper than I thought. My loss far greater.

It is a selfish thing, wanting a person back. I want it anyway. I’m crippled with grief. 

They say time heals all things. Time move swiftly!