Six Months and I Still Hear Your Voice
Front yard green, slide tackling soccer.
You promised you wouldn't cheat...you couldn't resist a win.
Andrew slipping Monopoly money beneath the table with your grin thinking he only gave you an advantage.
Your grin of satisfaction turned to annoyance as he favored me as well.
Sitting in our Camry on Magnolia to get your call, "I'm gonna be a dad!"
Rejoicing, because I called you just weeks before with the same.
Your reserve most times when talking with me, when I just wanted to say, "You don't have to hide."
Six months ago, dad's voicemail, shaky voice, panic not subdued to hear.
Hear the worst news. No notification, no preparation, no last goodbyes.
I still wait for you to call. I still wait for a Lazarus ending, an empty tomb.
I see you dear brother. I hear your voice.
We were suppose to ride this life together, watch our children grow together, bury mom & dad before we buried you.
We; you, me and Andrew, suppose to live beyond our 30s.
Cadence shares in being a middle like me. She said in child like form, "Mama, since Uncle Willy died you're not a middle anymore; but, the oldest."
I don't want to be the oldest. I am not the oldest. I don't want to be a sibling of two. Three is even, two is not.
I want my Lazarus ending, I want an empty tomb. I want my redemption this side of heaven.
I still hear your voice these six months later. I hear our voices talking on a warm summer day. Me on the back porch and you in Arizona, the last time we spoke. The last time we will in this lifetime.
I miss you dearly big brother. You told me you missed Grandma in that last conversation...maybe she gets her time with you hearing your voice.
I want my Lazarus ending. I want an empty tomb. I hear your voice, and I believe it's saying "I don't have to hide anymore Kamille--I'm found."