People Who Leave

Don’t Always Come Back

A reflective piece about experiencing death, including the deaths of my father, mother, and daughter. Intense loss and grief. Trigger warning, dark piece.

In The Beginning

As a child, leaving meant a journey

Sometimes cross-country, other times overseas

Grew accustomed to moving; at first it hurt

We lived in each country for one year

Packing became just another seasonal activity

Saying goodbye, sincere promises of missives

Became a meaningless ritual with best intentions

Forced to return “home” upon my father’s death

The last time I saw him he was leaving to go to the rig

He kissed me on the head, “I love you,” I said

Never saw him again.

Return to a Home I’ve Not Known

Casket sealed, flown to the States

Mom and I planned to shield my baby brother

For months we told him, “Papa’s on a job. A long job.”