A year ago today, I was going to stay with my aunt and sister. The anniversary of my dad’s death was approaching and we wanted to get together.
I remember packing my tiny bottle of tiny pills in my suitcase.
I remember packing my tiny bottle of tiny pills in my suitcase.
I remember drinking a glass of wine with dinner and another with Sunday lunch.
I remember taking a walk in the falling dusk with my aunt and sister and looking out over a still pond and none of us talking about Dad but all of us thinking about how he wasn’t there.
I remember packing tampons as my period was due, but all that showed up was a tiny smear of dark blood.
I remember taking my little pill on Friday night, my little secret.
I remember wondering if my period was ever going to show up when it should.
I don’t remember flying home again.
I remember taking a walk in the falling dusk with my aunt and sister and looking out over a still pond and none of us talking about Dad but all of us thinking about how he wasn’t there.
I remember packing tampons as my period was due, but all that showed up was a tiny smear of dark blood.
I remember taking my little pill on Friday night, my little secret.
I remember wondering if my period was ever going to show up when it should.
I don’t remember flying home again.