Sometimes the only way we forget everything is when we go to sleep, and right now that’s all I could ask for. I don’t want to think, or speak, or devote any more energy to crying. I had spent the whole day driving across country to reunite with family to mourn the sudden, heart wrenching loss of my Grandfather. Family members I hadn’t seen in years exchange solemn greetings as we share fond memories and awkward small talk - the empty space is undeniable, a space in which his sarcasm would fit in perfectly, or a grandfatherly comment about how much his “little bit” (the nickname he’d designated to my sister) had grown, but the silence is deafening.

Feeling crushed and defeated I slowly drag myself to the guest bedroom at my aunt’s cozy little farm house, slumping down on top of a messily made empty king sized bed that’s fully covered with decorative throw pillows. I want to throw each and every one of them, I imagine tearing each and every frilly pillow with my bare hands until feathers fill all the empty space in the room. Instead, I bury myself beneath them - attempting to hold back sobs and strenuous breathing.

All I’m longing for is a slumber that will last a lifetime. I don’t want to remember today; part of me still wants to believe it’s a mean spirited prank. That tomorrow I’ll wake up and he’ll still be there - the 5:00am Cigarette and Triple Triple coffee that wafts through the house, him tussling my hair and joking about classic music (he’d been the only person to appreciate Elvis as much as me, and I, 15 thought that meant he was the coolest person ever), that we’d be able to share another road trip belting out Heartbreak Hotel and talking about tattoo ideas and making plans to visit Graceland. I had looked up to him and admired him; but in this moment I feel a pang in my stomach, a deep set pit that weighs me down. I should have called more, I should have tried to make more memories. The should haves. The could haves. The internal guilt and questioning that if I had done more, would the outcome be different.

Tomorrow is the funeral, 6 days before Christmas. I don’t want to do this, I’m not ready. I want to forget, but I don’t want to wake up and repeat this pain all over again. I lay there in the still of the night, memories racing through my mind. Fear, guilt, sadness - all of the emotions that I had never learned how to cope with swallow me whole. I pray for slumber - I just want a small break from all of this. My heart and head feel heavy with worry about what the next day will bring. Sleep would be my only escape, my only moments to forget.

These are the nights that we cannot fathom, the ones consumed with grief. The nights that our anxiety and hardship haunts us. These are the nights we cannot forget. This is the night that I could never forget - the hardest night of my life, knowing that life is too short and the memories made are all we can really cling onto once life is taken way too short. There are times that I still wish to forget that night, where I wonder where in the universe you are and if you’d be proud of the person I am. Moments that I wish I had a final time to tell you that you are important. Valid. Valued. Maybe then, you’d see the worth you held. But all I can do, is go to sleep and forget all of it again.