We were seemingly all too hopeful
that you’d certainly pull through.
But, here we are praying and begging
that we won’t have to bury you, too.
Just before you left,
I asked if you felt nervous in your head.
“A little bit,” you replied.
Then, that was all you said.
I told you that it was important,
because you could have 20 more good years.
It’s only just been six days.
Now, we can’t see through our fears.
Today, my mom was silent.
She had very little words to say.
I asked a lot of questions,
but no progress has been made.
I had to put the phone below my mouth
so my mom wouldn’t hear me cry.
I told her it was okay not to be okay,
but the truth is neither am I.
I know I was sometimes hard on you,
teasing you about your perfectionist ways.
I’d give anything just to go back
to our normal, routine days.
Do you remember last Christmas
when we put up your Christmas tree?
I began sweeping with your vacuum,
and you came and took it away from me.
I sometimes rolled my eyes at you,
because you were meticulous through and through.
But, the world will never know a better man,
and those things were what I loved about you.
So, with grief, exhaustion, and worry,
I’m sending every ounce of good vibes to you.
I’m begging and pleading with God, or the universe,
that you will just pull through.