I stared into my father’s red rimmed eyes,

and I knew.

He is dead.

My baby brother is dead.

I had really believed

with every damn fiber of my being

he wouldn’t die.

No. No. No.

Grief grips me by the throat.

It’s hands

squeeze and squeeze

until I have no more

tears left to stain my skin with sorrow.

My heart has fallen out of my chest.

With every breath

the pain only gets heavier and heavier.

The weight crushes me

like a bug.

My mother doesn’t know

what to do with herself.

Her grief is

horribly, horribly

silent.

Though,

what are you supposed to do

when your beloved child

dies inside your own stomach?

I never met him.

I never even saw him.

How can the pain be so, so crushing?

Each day

it is still heavy.

It still hurts.

I never wanted

to bleed

to burn

like this, yet here I am.

This is something

you carry with yourself

for your whole life.

I am strong.

I am strong.

Oh, but this?

This has made me weak.