My mom’s brother passed away when I was eight years old
His death was sudden and cruel, from an undetected cancer
We flew out to Virginia for the funeral
Barely two weeks after he went to the doctor

Three cousins left without their father, the oldest barely ten
My sister and I sat around with them and played with toys
Every so often one of them would comprehend what was happening
And erupt into emotions and actions I couldn’t understand

And the scariest thing I ever saw was him
In a box
Where they placed him at the end of it all
Standing there, a little kid alone with a corpse
Telling him I wished I had appreciated him more

In my early teens, my family witnessed a motorcycle accident
We were on our way up the coast of Door County
A weekend picking cherries and eating ice cream
She wiped out a few minutes ahead of us on a winding road

By the time we approached there were people at her side
Someone had picked up the bike and moved it to the shoulder
The rider had a helmet, which probably saved her
And the world paused right there to make sure she was okay

But the scariest thing I ever saw was her
On the ground
Where I briefly, truly thought she was dead
Where they told her it was best for her to stay still
And it was clear to me I wouldn’t forget

[interlude]

And the scariest thing I ever saw was you
In a room
Where they took you when you wanted to die
Learning I couldn’t always be stronger in support
Than you were in collapse

And it feels selfish to even tell this story from my perspective
But I’m still learning, and you’re still here, and that’s a start