She’s Not Even Dead Yet
Image credit: derekoverfield.com
“She isn’t even dead yet and already I think I understand what grieving feels like.”
Julia Snrubs
She isn’t even dead yet and already
I’m crying in my bed late at night
I’m breaking down in the middle of meeting
Because a song caught me off guard
It reminded me of her
I hugged a sister in the bathroom
I choke out a laugh that sounds more like a sob
Because she isn’t even dead yet
She isn’t even dead yet and already
I think I understand what grieving feels like
I understand the stereotypes in all the movies
I’ve memorized the five stages, I’ve hit at least three
I don’t have time to unpack all this
But also, what else is there to do?
How do you grieve someone
Who isn’t even dead yet
She isn’t even dead yet and I know I should be grateful
For every text I see she sends, for every breath she breathes
For every new update that says she’s doing fine
I know I should visit her at least one last time I know I should make the most
Of the time that I have left
But I can’t stand to bear the thought
Of saying a real goodbye
Because once it’s over, then what? Pretend she doesn’t exist?
What’s the point of saying goodbye
If she isn’t even dead yet
And if I text her, what do I say
If I visit, what do I do?
The most we can do is be there
At least that’s what they say
But I don’t want to watch my friend
Die and waste away
I don’t want to leave her alone in her room
Pumped up with whatever they give her
Until her appetite leaves
I don’t want to see her defeated body
I don’t want to see her brave smile
I don’t want my sadness and red eyes and tears
To remind her she’s dying and leaving us sad
I don’t want to tell a dying woman
To be positive, or that I’ll see her soon
I don’t want her to think that I don’t care
I don’t want her to think about how much her being gone will hurt all of us
I don’t want her to think about our lives once she’s gone
How we’ll snivel and hold each other
And break down at the hall
How we’ll cry at her funeral
And try not to be ashamed of our tears
How we’ll get through it together
How there’ll be another year
How eventually we’ll move on
And be struck less and less
How our memories will fade
Until there’s nothing but the good left
How she’ll become a saint of sorts
A long list of people we’ll see again
All of this imagined future
And she isn’t even dead yet
No amount of future hope can stop the pain of now
One day closer to seeing her again
Is another day closer to watching her die
If the window is so short, why say goodbye?
Will not a “see you soon” suffice?
But it’s more than that, and my body knows
Grief is not something you can speedrun
And can you even call it grief? I didn’t know her At least, not as well as most
I could get to know her now
But why befriend a ghost?
Why load the gun with silver bullets
And aim it at my head?
There’s no telling when the trigger pulls
There’s no telling ‘til she’s dead
The thought of her is synonymous with pain and grief
And that isn’t at all fair
She’s so much more than everything
That I can’t even bear
And so I lay
Here in bed
Knowing I should sleep
Processing loss
Dealing with grief
Projecting future memories
Saying goodbye
Touching her hand
All this
And she isn’t even dead yet
Oh God, how much worse is this gonna get
When she isn’t even dead yet
Author’s Statement: This piece was written about my friend who just entered hospice after battling breast cancer for the past year.