Delayed Reaction

You died again last night. And I sat by your bed talking with you now and then, but mostly just watching you, trying to determine in my childish way, how much of you was still left inside your shrinking body, just like I did 26 years ago.

And I woke up this morning and cried in the bathtub for the first time because unlike then, when losing you meant no more than losing an extra scoop of ice cream, I finally understood what I lost. Something I never knew I had. Someone like me.

I wonder if mom still has your old paintings?

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