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.