Write a 20-line poem about a memorable moment in your life.
“How late should she be before I get worried?”
It was the question that foreshadowed the horror.
The prompt which sent us early from the restaurant
and speeding toward the house, phone calls unanswered,
worst-case scenarios bullying into our thoughts.
Two officers arrived first with no good news.
Invited inside, they sat us down and made us cry.
Luckily it was just a mistake. A silly misunderstanding.
But she never appeared to disprove the claims.
Never even popped in to say goodbye or apologize.
We gathered to confusedly mourn. To ask, “What the hell?”
Soon we went our own ways, reacting as we would.
One hid away, alone. One wanted others near.
I kept myself busy with paperwork and logistics.
Productive and necessary. Distracting. Heroic, even.
The support was tremendous, the outpouring touching.
We sent her off in style. The best way we knew how.
And then life went on. For us, anyway. Not for her.
Things were different. Not really that different.
The new normal crept up and encircled us.
How horrible that the tears should dry.
How insensitive to talk of money.
But what else is to be done?
She was taken from us.
We are still alive.
So we live.