Tear Drops

Someone once told me that there is nothing worse than watching a parent cry as They bury one of their children. I have seen that. I have seen a mother cry as she sits in the front row of her first borns funeral. I have seen her held by her nephew in comfort as she cursed her husband for leaving her to be on her own for the burial. I have seen a mother spiral into depression, crying and weeping years after the death of the baby boy she never got to meet. And I have seen worse. I have heard a son scream as his father slip into a coma “Wake up dad! Wake up!” I've heard a daughter sit by in her other brothers arms, knowing that that was the last time their dad would open their eyes. I've seen a daughter run up and down the stairs to her comatose father. Wiping his face. Kissing his forehead. I have seen a granddaughter sat hidden beneath the kitchen table. Holding her dog, nearly her size. Crying and hiding from the screams. I have seen a son, dressed in orange with silver accessories, accompanied by men in blue. Not even able to cry for the fact he couldn't be with his father in his final moments. I have seen grandchildren, unknowingly laugh and smile as they ran around the funeral home. And then I've seen the calm A debt paid The tears no more Smiling at their memories No more crying Until a hurricane reigns Kicking up dust and dirt and mud Kicking it into the eyes of the hurt The still tender scars I have seen a sister hold her voice. Hold her breath. Hold her tears. Silently she waited. Silently she planned. Waiting until it was all over. I have seen a sister blame her brother, angry that he had done something so stupid so foolish so idiotic And yet love him all the same I have seen EX step children stand above the coffin of a man they haven't seen in years and weep Death is the surrealist pain. Truest pain. Most blissful pain a human can feel. Holding the death of one human as more painful than another is a dishonor to it.