I started journaling and writing to help process the storm of my grief emotions to profound loss. Sometimes I like to read it out loud as if it was a spoken word poem.

 

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Hey waiter,

I know you're just doing your job

But it hurts when you ask

how many for the table?

Five

Table of Five

We have always been a table of five

And I won't dare to say Four

because it hurts to the core

My Dad

My brother

My sister

and I

and my Mom

That's Five!

Table of Five!

Our whole lives

we were a table of five.

Do not make me say the words

that now we are four.

Do not look at me with those eyes

As you wait, you sigh.

I cry.

 

I know from the outside

it's just a number.

But the moment I respond

it takes me back to the day that she died.

In an instant, she was cut from my life.

No goodbye.

The reality that she won't sit with us again at the table

and everything else she'll be missing

If I could just hug her tight.

If I could just say goodnight.

Just one more time.

 

As you wait  for a response,

I gather all my pain and strength to say the words

F o u r.

Four.

 

So much pain in this four letter word.

An entire life subtracted

My mom, she cannot be forgotten.

Hey waiter,

I know you're just doing your job

But it hurts when you ask

How many for the table?

My whole life we were a table of five.