The Things That Stayed - Things that remain behind when someone leaves this world.

 

This is a poem I wrote today because I needed a suitcase for a trip and there was my moms suitcase, I opened it thinking no big deal I'll just move the stuff out and pack in my own, but immediately broke down. For months I have been finding things that I haven't fully unpacked since our time in the hospital with my mom. It's just stuff, but it's unpacking more out of me than the items themselves. 

Every now and again I find your things

Something new to unpack

The other day, a backpack, 

laid dormant since the nights 

I sat by your hospital bed

Medicine from the cold I had 

made my heart run cold to remember.

 

Your suitcase - straight off the plane. ✈️ 

You planned to stay.

Within a week,

You were gone from this plane. 

Boots you never got to wear.

Medicine that was supposed to make you well.

Loose change you'll never spend,

or throw into a jar to collect.

Supplements that promised support 

Can't save you now.

A shirt I lent you, 

but I don't want it back

I want all these things away from me—

the biting memory off my chest.

Yet I'm glad they're here,

reminding me of you.

I don't want to forget.

But right now, it hurts 

to remember

you were here.