It was more than 18 years ago now,
The day I watched your face
Turn from violet to blue to an icy white.
I stood there, holding your hoodie.
This accessory smelled more like you than you.
I remember my mouth going dry from surprise and terror and fear and panic.
My ears recall the utter silence. Pin drop.
Those fibers on the black lining, rubbing.
Your body, more limp, making you look like a hanger, no longer holding up your clothes.
You’d cleaned your room. Spotless. Pledge.
No feelings, just data. Vacuum.
You and me, alone, in a clean room.
You lifeless, me dead inside. Mirrors.
I didn’t do anything. I just stood and watched. I’ve regretted that.
It was our only time alone before all the tears. I’ve regretted that too.
I remember you like you left yesterday.
I’ve stayed quiet with regret for so long.
What would I say if no one would judge?
I’d talk about the sigh of relief my chest exhaled when I saw your lips turn blue.
Knowing I could get out and not worry about you.
Chasing my dreams without thinking of the mess you’d become.
I’d tell someone that the last words that left my lips in that room was, “i couldn’t save you. I never could.”
It wasn’t I’m sorry or I love you. You were my loss, but a loss.
I’d express my anger that you left me at the worst time, without a friend. A best friend. You rejected me.
How I gave up my bunk beds because you’d slept on them with me, because I couldn’t stop seeing you hanging.
How you made me more different than I already was. Now I was the girl with a dead friend. Now I’ve watched someone die. Now I have even more issues.
Unrelatable and alone.
How you knew. You knew I had no one to help me with this. No one to turn to.
I wanted to yell at you, to call you selfish. But that wasn’t correct.
I would say I have never quite gotten the hang of being around dead bodies because you were the first. And there was nothing comforting about it.
How every time I’m around one now, how every time I even see Jesus on a cross I see your face.
How I never understood. How I don’t understand. Did you not trust me?
How sometimes, in those first few days, I slept easier knowing you were safer.
How sometimes, in those first few years, I hated you. I hated me.
Guilt. Relief. Anger. Calm.
You changed my life for the worse.
A terrible scar across my heart.
All I could show was pain or nothing.
For so long, nothing.
In a child, out an adult?
Protecting you then honoring you?
Who does that for me?
And all I seem now is selfish.
If only I felt safe enough
To say it while still alone in your room.
Perhaps then, this pain could dissipate.