Good Grief, Deni

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719 Days

719 days since we last spoke,
and somehow, life just carries on,
guilty in its routine.
I think of you—
but sometimes I don’t.
And in those quiet moments,
I wonder if it’s wrong
to laugh,
to forget.

You’re not here,
but I feel you still.
I imagine your eyes
gazing through the veil,
and I wonder—
do you protect me?
Do you send angel kisses,
tuck me in with pillow hugs?

I see your signs.
I ask you for them.
Cloud faces, blue feathers, dimes, pennies,
and you deliver.
It has to be enough.

I ask you to watch over
the ones I love,
to keep showing me
you’re near.
And you do.
Don’t stop.

I live better because of you,
but also with guilt,
with sadness that never leaves.
719 days of loss,
and now—
we are the same age.

But soon,
I will pass you,
growing older than you ever could.
November 5th,
I’ll become what you’ll never be—
older.

Don’t stop guiding me.
Don’t stop sending your signs—
blue feathers, soft breezes,
cloudy smiles,
dimes, and pennies.

I’ve missed you.
719 days of loss

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