I never really knew before
how grief can change everything.
How it robs you of your ability
to do the most normal of things.
How it creates a fog over your life
so that even the simplest decisions
are virtually impossible.

I never really knew before
that there could be so many tears,
that I could cry every day
for weeks upon weeks
and never empty the bottomless well.

I never really knew before
that my faith and my trust in the world
could be called into such question.
Or that I could cry in desperation
when someone close to me
didn’t answer the phone.

I never really knew before
that the worst things
really could happen to me
and to the people I love.
That the world could keep moving
while our lives stood still.

I never really knew before
that my love’s attempt at soothing by saying,
“everything will be OK,”
could not possibly comfort me anymore.
Because everything is not ok
and you can’t ever promise that
to anyone that again.

I never really knew before
that I would be haunted
by the fact that we didn’t hug goodbye,
because the last time I left you,
you were having such a great time
playing with your friend
and I knew I’d see you again soon.

I never really knew before
that the last time I saw you alive
I wouldn’t see your joyful, vibrant sweetness;
that instead I would see only your little body
with tubes and machines and blood.

I didn’t know all that before,
and I wish I didn’t
have to know it now.

© 2002 Julie Kyker
July 3, 2002