You can rise up
Lowering my father’s coffin into the ground, that is something to which I can better relate. I am already there. They might as well throw me in alive and bury me. I am the living dead. My body is alive, but my spirit is dead. Or at least it seems to be. I stand aside from the crowd and watch my father be put to rest. My mother weeps openly, but somehow I can’t find the strength to walk over to her to console her. I am in enough pain myself. The multitudes are there to comfort her, anyway. No one would have comforted me. From time to time, Aisha looks across at me, her eyes filled with care. That is fine with me. I’m sure she wants to extend a hug, also, but without even saying it, we both know that would only draw more mean stares toward me. Today I say goodbye to my father but wish I could go as well.