I’m not supposed to be here, staring at a headstone with your name, seated on the cold ground unable to move in both heartbreak and disbelief. You’re not supposed to be there, in heaven– not yet, not so soon.
It’s really not supposed to be this way.
I’m not supposed to be here, tearful as I hang an ornament with your picture and also the date of the year you passed away. You’re not supposed to be there, hanging on a tree in remembrance instead of gathering ‘round it with the rest of us– making memories instead of being one.
It shouldn’t be this way.
I’m not supposed to be the tradition-keeper, the holiday host, the person that attempts to recreate your magic and your beauty. You’re not supposed to be missing it all. You’re not supposed to have shoes that need to be filled and an empty seat where you used to be.
It’s not supposed to be this way.
There are so many places and spaces I find myself now that you’re gone. Places that were always yours. Places that shouldn’t be mine— at least not yet.
And it really shouldn’t be this way– yet it is.
We were supposed to have more time.
We were supposed to be together for much longer.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way–
with you there and me here– separated so soon, so early.
Yet here I am, carrying the weight of grief and longing, standing in places that were always better and more beautiful when they were yours.
If only there were still yours…
