Adom

I saw a cardinal today. The clouds had already cried for your absence and frozen on the street as a reminder to your loved ones at home. Most of us were stuck in our own grief over the loss of you.

I saw a cardinal today. It was the only vibrant color in the white blanket surrounding your home. Where I was supposed to be inside, I found myself on your favorite porch swing. It creaked under my weight, an untouched memory frozen in its place. My breathing formed clouds of things untold. I miss you.

I saw a cardinal today. It reminded me of you. I called your phone and waited for the dreadful tone. It was the only way to hear your voice. The voicemail I left was simple.

“I saw a cardinal today.” I kept the line open until the voicemail time hit zero, but I couldn’t think of what to say. You wouldn’t ever hear it anyway.

I saw a cardinal today. It whistled to the tune of lullabies you would sing when I was young. How would a bird know of such memories? The pain in my chest might never dissipate. Where did you go?

I saw a cardinal today. I know it’s just a bird, but just a bird didn’t sit right with me. There had to be some kind of meaning. You were just here with me, then you were gone. I wanted to tell you I love you.

I saw a cardinal today. It’s been a year since you left us, but processing that information hasn’t been easy. I wasn’t prepared for the last hug to be the last hug. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.

I saw a blue jay yesterday. You loved their color patterns when you were here. I recorded its song on my phone, but had no one to play it for. Life isn’t the same anymore.

I saw a cardinal today. My therapist told me to talk to it as if I were talking to you, but I didn’t know what to say. It waited patiently as a waterfall of salty tears coated my cheeks. Maybe next time.

I saw a cardinal today. I was prepared this time. It seemed the cardinal had been as well. A little over a year ago, you were my best friend. Now, I have found solace in living in your home, feeding bread crumbs and sunflower seeds to this bird.

I saw another blue jay. It was different from the last. My therapist told me it’s a sign of protection. I needed to let my walls down, but how do I do that when the fortress grew so high?

I saw a cardinal today. We sat and talked for hours. Well, I did most of the talking while he whistled his tune. I gave him a name today. His name is Adom. Did you know in Africa that translates to blessing? I wanted his name to be perfect so we looked together.

I saw Adom today. We went through our daily process of sunflower seeds and bread. His presence has helped me learn how to be human in your absence, but it hasn’t changed the fact that I still miss you. Why weren’t you here today?

I’ve seen Adom every day since you died. I haven’t been able to go back to school, even after two years. I haven’t touched your bedroom, nor packed up any of your belongings. I still make breakfast, lunch, and dinner for both of us, then clear our plates after attempting and failing to finish yet another meal.

Your voicemail has been full for over a year, but I still call your phone every day to tell you I love you. I wear your shirt to bed as a big hug and Adom sits outside the window singing. Sometimes I swear I hear you when he does. I haven’t been practicing my piano since you died. I haven’t learned how to be me without you. Your absence created a hole in my heart. Without you, I am incomplete. Our bond may carry into the afterlife, but I have been unable to carry on a normal life alone.

Adom decided this was his home today. He entered through the open window above your memorial and refused to leave. I didn’t want him to go anyway. I don’t spend every night alone anymore, but it’s still not you.

Your scent has faded away over time and your phone number has been disconnected for over a week now. I still call it, but when I hear the error beep in my ear, I have found myself in tears. I didn’t get to say goodbye.

Adom woke me up today. Someone was at the door. I was greeted by mom when I opened it. My hair was a mangled and tangled mess, I’d lost a lot of weight, my once beautiful skin was pale and my muscles had become weak. Adom flew around the home screeching for mom’s help, pleading for her to not leave.

You left me and took me with you. It wasn’t fair. I was supposed to come home from class and tell you what I learned. I came home to flashing lights, firefighters, and EMTs trying to resuscitate you. I was too late.

Adom died today. Out of all of the times I tried and failed to come visit you, this was the time I couldn’t bring myself to fail. I brought Adom with me and laid him in the open space beside you.

I spent the next week clearing out our home. Your pictures were put on the new walls, your recipes were placed delicately in the new kitchen, your spoons hung above the new stove, and your dishes in the cabinets. I kept the quilt you hand-stitched, and everything else got distributed to the rest of the family. Their patience with me has been unrequitable.

It’s been a little over a year since Adom passed away. Life hasn’t been the same. It wasn’t perfect, but it was manageable. I didn’t get to say goodbye. My therapist says I’m still grieving your loss, but is that even possible when it’s been so long? Shouldn’t I be better by now?

I made our eggs with toast and coffee this morning then packed it into a picnic basket along with some sunflower seeds. When I got to the cemetery, mom was already waiting. We sat and ate together, reminiscing. I left behind the sunflower seeds. Please make sure Adom gets them.

I saw a cardinal today. It made me think of you. Are you giving Adom the sunflower seeds? I miss both of you.