A Too Familiar Journey

Rest in peace Gaddy, Grandpa, and Papa. You will live forever in my heart.

A Too Familiar Journey
By: Samantha Gill

 

The flowers
that I spent too long choosing
lay heavy in my hands.

The ride here,
though less than an hour,
always feels endless.

As I sit in my car,
unmoving, my mind refuses
to slow down.

Every time I come here,
I think of all of the other families
who make the same journey,
still unable to grasp reality.

I clutch the flowers in my hands,
careful not to choke the life out of them.
I begin to walk the same path
I have walked dozens of times over.

I come to a stop,
knowing I'm in the right place.
The maze of the columbarium
no longer perplexes me.

I look at the flowers, still in my hand.
I look up, my right hand has raised on its own,
my palm pressed against the wall.

The red roses in my hands are the only color around me.
The grey sky mimics the marble slates that surround me,
each etched with stark black lines that tell a story.

I place my right hand over my heart,
and lay the flowers with my left.
I look up, trying to find your face in the sky.

"Until next time," I whisper, as I begin the retreat to my car.