I remember that morning

As many as three times a week

 

And I remember the shrieks

 

And I remember yelling your name with a question mark

 

And I remember walking to the bathroom door

 

And I remember hesitating before reaching out

As Mom ran in like some kind of heroine,

Making me feel helpless and useless

 

But it wasn't about me

And I knew that

But I still felt bad

Because I couldn't be there.

 

I always felt bad

When I couldn’t be there.

 

And I know she wanted to help

And I know she needed to help

And maybe she did

And I hope she did

But she always wants to help

And she always needs to help

No matter how much we need her to stop helping.

 

And I was scared

Of losing your immortality.

 

And I remember the silence

But the silence was never peaceful in our house

And I think it was even less peaceful today,

Not unlike the silence after a hurricane,

Strong enough to break a duct tape house.

 

And I remember the silence

Continually seeping out from the cracks in your throat

After you saw blood spraying from the molding showerhead.

 

And I remember crying

Because I was scared

And I missed you

And that hospital felt so damn far away

And I think I wanted to be there too.

 

And I remember no one understanding me.

 

And I remember being the only one who could ever understand how I felt

Because you were immortal

And you were strong

And you were the strongest person I knew

 

So I remember that morning every week

 

Because it took away my strength

When it forced me to acknowledge your weakness