I was glad to see October go.

A chapbook of poetry by Caitlin VanOverberghe

For my Aunt Debbie and her Ryan

Three weeks post op

Goodbye #1

My faith left with him on a Sunday evening just after sunset. Right there, where gravel meets metal. Fast trains were never ones to be tested. He couldn’t see – we just know. He was careful, he was kind, a friend to all. And it came with no warning. It came with no warning except for that feeling in the pit of my stomach telling me that I was next. A matter of time until it was my turn. Never to die, just to hurt. So when that woman edged forward on a Tuesday afternoon before I could change direction, I wasn’t surprised. I just fell.

Crash Close eyes. Yell. BANG. Spin ‘round. All the way around. Darkness for one freezing moment. I rock backwards. Still conscious. What happened? Lip burning. Arm throbbing. Put your foot on the break. You’ll stop. I did. Hold still. Hold still. Hold still. It’s a dream. My arm hurts. Breathe. Stay calm. Breathe. Stay calm. Where am I? Where are you? You’re alive.

Gone I had a dream that you were lost amongst the stars that you had gone somewhere Far away I had a dream that you were taken from us forever with just a Stone to represent your Being I had a dream that became a nightmare One that won’t Go Away

Summertime Full and lush, green and bright. In the summertime you brought us together. You shadowed us, protected us from the rays of the sun. We played, skipped, danced with you to escape from lives that had barely begun. When the night brought cool air, we would look to the sunset and relished in the beauty of it all. We were young, things were fair, and we were free to play to our hearts’ content. The darkness brought stars and they twinkled down as we lay by tree roots and picked grass from the base. We carved our names, left our souls on the trunk and we discovered that there was a place here for us. We found each other there, living for a moment, never thinking one day it would be over. You were alive in the summertime.

Eight weeks post op

Goodbye #2

I fell to the stone floor in a cold, dark hallway as my knees gave in to the shockwaves that hit me. Fear and grief rushed to my fingertips like blood rushing to a wound. My heart bled and begged to go home. I wanted to be held, to hold. I screamed, drew stares, and clung for comfort to a worthless object. I feared where my mind would lead me. But I let it wander anyway. I stole away in the past, trying to find peace, but was lost among tears. I missed him. I always missed him. He was my childhood, forever wrapped up in an energetic smile and unmistakable laughter. “My Ryan”.

One more moment Little did we know it was the last time we’d be together Dressed to the nines Suit and tie Dress and gown Little did we see the parallels of the greens His tie Her belt Their socks Your home beneath the ground Little did we recognize Your laughter Your eyes Your hand ‘round our shoulders The feeling of our arms wrapped around you Little did we know you’d soon be gone Thank God we relished in it, those last moments together Thank God we sang and danced and sinned and prayed Together For one last time

Wake up Momma told me one day that I was now old enough for funerals She put me in black and pulled my hair back and let Daddy carry me through A line of people I recognized, up to a box at the front where a lady in yellow Was sleeping Momma told me she was my family but older and more distant A cousin to Grandpa and a grandma to someone over there in a dark dress whose Hands were covering her face. “She’s sad,” Momma told me as we watched her cry But why? She’s with Jesus now, they told me. She’s gone to a better place. So, I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t crying. I wasn’t praying toward the sky. This naiveté would fade one day and your death would mean A piece of our hearts gone forever What is sleep? What is heaven? What is hell? What is the point?

Fall

Falling and fading, browning and cold. In the fall you left us forever. Nowhere to turn to, yet nothing to run from, we simply fell down in sorrow. We clung to each other, our heads in their shoulders, griping whatever we could. We cried for you, lied for you, wished we had died for you and prayed you’d return like you should. We looked back, studied memories, heard stories of our innocence, and tears fell from our eyes as we wept for the way that you were. You were taken from us in the fall.

Fifteen weeks post op

Goodbye #3

“My Ryan” is what she screamed when they told her. Letting the front door slam behind her and running to the street, where a man in a dark uniform confirmed her suspicions. “Where is he?” she begged. “Where is my Ryan?” My Momma rushed to her, held her sister close and let her cry on her shoulder. I know he watched them. I know he watch me, kept my wheels on the ground. He closed my eyes for me as I spun out of control. He rocked me back into that ditch and saw me out the door safely. Arm broken. Freedom smashed. Religion lost somewhere in the grass. Guilt overtook any pain that I had, And I cried for him.

Just look at yourself Today you look average. Blemished. Rolled out. And average. You tried yesterday, so why try today? Why worry? No one is looking at you anyway. They won’t see the scar hidden under your sleeve. It’s cold enough for sweatshirts, so they won’t ask questions. Plaster on a smile and pretend you’re okay. Because you are just average. Flawed. Informal. And they don’t remember you’re broken. They forget because you’ve hid it so well. You’ve acted like it’s nothing and joked like it’s funny. Because to them it doesn’t matter how you feel. Plaster on your everyday smile and pretend like you did yesterday. His memory is more important than your flesh. So, remember that.

Sometimes I wonder if I would have been easier too lose if I would have been missed just a little less

so their hearts didn’t hurt so bad

So I didn’t hurt so bad.

Winter Frigid and bare, dark and still. In the winter, things were uneventful. We kept to ourselves, trying to manage, attempting to accept what was new. This was our world now, our life with one less, our days with reduced laughter. We hid under blankets, shut out the world, forced ourselves to think of other things. We feared those stars that had brought us such wonder, for now all they brought us was pain. Oh yes, we still searched, calling for meaning, asking for explanation. But it never came to us, neither did God, and the cold began to feel like acceptance. You visited our dreams, whispered to our eyelids, and reminded us the world was still turning. Your memory got us through winter.

Twenty-six weeks post op

Goodbye #4 I cried for him when my mother saw me on a hospital bed. She explained our situation and I cried for him even more. I cried for him when they told me they’d cut me open the very next day. I panicked for only a second before they put they under. When they told me to picture a warm place, I pictured him. I never cried for me. I never cried for me because survivors don’t have tears to spare for themselves. A shattered bone doesn’t kill you, so you have to be stronger. Now, metal holds me together but nothing else does. Because three weeks post op just means three weeks since he’s been gone. I was glad to see October go.

How do you forgive your God when there is no one to blame in an accident? My questions simply go unanswered. I can shout to heaven, call out “Why?” to the Lord, but I’ve resolved that I’ll never be heard. Why was he taken? Why couldn’t I get home? And why is heaven considered better than earth? It hurts that He took him away, hurts that he is gone. But hurts more that he will never return. As days turn to weeks and weeks turn to months this life continues to push us onward. I’ll miss you each morning, kiss your memory each day and before I sleep, I’ll cry that your missing.

Among Us

This is a part of me now The scars on my soul The marks on my arm and my heart This is my story The loss of my cousin The death of my childhood pal This is a part of my now The tale of two crashes Two crashes with two days between them This is my story The message I carry and The memories I’ll never let fade I serve as a reminder that angels are with us That they watch us and keep us each day

Springtime Light and fresh, sunny and new. In the springtime we learned to move forward. New buds filled the branches, living grasses covered the ground, and sun brushed our cheeks in the morning. We spoke of you, wrote of you, laughed of you, joked of you, and cried for your memory every day. We tried to exist in a place where you weren’t, and although it was hard, we learned how. We brought you along wherever we could and where we couldn’t we still carried your name. Even though you were gone from us, and not gone long from us, we had to recover from the fall. We think of you each day in the springtime.