He stands at the door waiting for you to come home. He doesn’t see me watching from the hallway, tucked away in shadows, tucked away in misery. He doesn’t see me anymore, he doesn’t smile and hold me up to the bright sky, an offering to the shining sun anymore. I asked him to make his spaghetti last night, the one that he made on Christmas mornings along with our eggs and spicy cinnamon buns, but he didn’t say anything, he didn’t even look at me. His stare, oh it was so scary, blank and hard. He just watches the door, Mom, he just watches the door all day, waiting for you to open it one day and come back home. I don’t know how to tell him what you told me, that you are never coming home, that he’s just going to wait and wait and keep waiting for you forever.
August 23, 2011