​Waiting to Get to 52

It hasn’t been too long since you left us

51 years old, four days in the ICU

I brought you flowers

I made sure you were cremated with your baby blanket, the thing you loved the most

It’s only been less than three months

And I feel so impatient

There’s this part of me that’s still in denial

I keep thinking, “It’s been too long since I’ve heard from her; when will I see her again?”

I still imagine your face every day, you in your black and blue rain jacket, your leggings, and your hair pulled back into a ponytail

I still hear your voice…your laugh, your nickname you gave me, the way you would clear your throat early in the mornings

I have some of your clothes

I wear them when I miss your hugs, because it’s the closest I can get to them now

I was 26 when you died, and I still am 26 right now

I’ve known you my whole life

For 26 years of my life I was able to hear your voice

I think it’ll take a long time to stop hearing your voice, imagining you in your rain jacket

Maybe a lifetime

I think it’ll take another 26 years, the equivalent of time I was able to share with you

Then I’ll be 52

And then I won’t think of you every day….I just have to wait it out