Speaking about my Love does not hurt me.
It grants me freedom.
Hearing his name does not make me cringe.
It’s music to my ears.
The silence is what hurts.
The desert of his name upon your lips.
You who called him family.
Uncle, brother, friend.
As if he dies a second death.
Unremembered. Unrecalled. Unspoken.
Erased from our experience.
This isn’t the way we honor.
“Please speak of me kindly and often. I cannot be there for them.”
Copyright © 2018 by Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved.