unsought lessons come in all human experiences. i am learning so much from my brother-in-law and sister about how to grieve. as children, we were never allowed to grieve; we had truths hidden from us until we were grown. to spare us the hurt of our father's disappearance and the discovery of his assasination-execution-murder. and yet somehow, two decades later, our sublimated cicatrice is a still weeping wound veiled by raw dermis. anaphylactic sorrow. throats, heart, spirit constricted, stifled.
and here i bear witness to their sorrow. open to their pain, open to their loved ones. and i bear witness to Death through the eyes of a child. my niece's heartbreak, her honest longing. when did i lose that ability to weep unabashedly, that innocence to be vulnerable?
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