When My Dad died most of my “relationships” did too., by Dayna Hodge Lynch
POETRY READINGS
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2m 12s
Performed by Val Cole
POEM:
Trauma greets me in the morning
Growing legs and stretching to lay beside Grief and I
My spearmint tea is poured with with tears of solitude steeped into my being
My phone dings, a message from the socials
this “relative” seeking to be absolved
“Hey I saw this *grief story* made me think of you (from a person I haven’t heard from since 2 days after Dad died)”
Next a message from 3:06 am…
“I know I haven’t been there for you with your grief after your dad. I hope you’re doing better”
The closer to the holidays, the closer I am to the realm of Dante’s Inferno.
So many levels to choose from…
So this is like the ex that called me out of my name once, 4 days after my Dad died. We then broke up.
This is like the man that I thought was a friend when my sister was experiencing that aneurysm (2 months after Dad died) but showed me his unsolicited penis and opinion instead.
This is like the person I thought was a friend told me, I don’t want to be around you when you’re like this. Can we try to see where you’re at in a few months?
This is like when that other “bestie” never initiated contact. Never uttered a word. Nor the other bestie because “I was a downer”.
This is like when I needed support and love and was met with the attention of my lonesome loneliness.
This is the part of the story where I can’t make this shit up,
They’ll say it’ll get better. I’m waiting now like I’m waiting for the 14 trying to get to work. Hummingbirds knew to find the best method of recovery —fly in any direction but love yourself enough to leave
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