My Friend's Mom Died Yesterday

My friend's mom died yesterday.

I say it like that because that's what happened.

There is no softer version that makes it easier to hear.

There is no other sentence that means the same thing without changing it.

My friend's mom died yesterday.

I try not to think about what that feels like for them.

I imagine that phone call.

I imagine someone saying the words directly.

I imagine the moment after, when there is nothing to say back.

I imagine sitting down because your body needs to.

I imagine not knowing what to do next.

My friend's mom died yesterday.

I think about their house.

I think about the chair she sat in.

I think about her voice already belonging to the past.

I think about how every ordinary object becomes evidence that she is gone.

I do not stay only with their experience.

I cannot.

Because my sister died.

That is also a sentence that does not change.

My friend's mom died yesterday.

When I hear it, my mind goes back to the day I lost my sister.

I remember the exact moment I understood.

I remember the feeling in my chest.

It was heavy and constant and it did not stop.

I remember thinking that everything was now divided into before and after.

I remember realizing that I would carry this for the rest of my life.

My friend's mom died yesterday.

I try to stay present for my friend.

I try not to make it about me.

But my experience sits beside theirs whether I want it or not.

I know what it is to lose someone who shaped your life.

I know what it is to wake up the next day and have the world continue.

I know what it is to look at other people and feel separate from them.

My friend's mom died yesterday.

I think about how grief works in the body.

It changes how you breathe.

It changes how you move through a room.

It changes how time feels.

I think about how there is nothing I can say that will fix this.

There is no instruction that helps someone get through it faster.

There is no sentence that removes the fact of death.

My friend's mom died yesterday.

What I can do is recognize it.

What I can do is stay.

What I can do is understand that this is not temporary.

When my sister died, people tried to help.

Some of them spoke carefully.

Some of them avoided it.

Some of them said nothing.

None of it changed the fact that my sister was gone.

My friend's mom died yesterday.

I know that this will not end tomorrow for them.

I know that this will continue in quiet ways.

I know that this will show up in ordinary moments without warning.

I know becasue it still does for me.

My friend's mom died yesterday.

And that is where this begins for them.

And it does not end.