You Let Go of People

Mom kept your records on the top shelf.

I had to stand on a chair to reach them.

Your face was everywhere.

Your voice was everywhere.

You were the easiest person in the house to find.

Except in the house.

Mom said you were coming Friday.

She cleaned the apartment twice.

Dinner sat on the stove until midnight.

The porch light stayed on.

Saturday came.

Your excuse came with it.

You always had another plan.

Another deal.

Another dream.

Another reason.

Mom learned them all by heart.

You held onto dreams.

You let go of people.

You chased tomorrow.

You missed what was right in front of you.

You held onto dreams.

You let go of people.

The money stayed where you left it.

The years didn’t.

I found your picture in a kitchen drawer.

The corners were bent.

Mom looked younger than I do now.

She took it from my hands.

Put it back.

Never said a word.

I found photos of you smiling.

Standing with people I never met.

I kept looking.

Trying to understand how somebody can be present everywhere.

Except where they were needed.

My father wanted one version of me.

My mother wanted another.

I spent years standing in the middle.

Maybe you cared.

Maybe you didn’t.

I wasn’t there.

I only know what I saw.

I saw my mother stop expecting calls.

I saw birthdays come and go.

I saw your records stay.

I saw your promises leave.

Maybe you loved us.

I don’t know.

What I know is this.

Every time life asked you to choose.

You picked the thing you were chasing.

Not the people waiting for you.

You held onto dreams.

You let go of people.

You chased tomorrow.

You missed what was right in front of you.

You held onto dreams.

You let go of people.

The money stayed where you left it.

The years didn’t.

I learned your voice before I learned you.

I learned your name before I learned you.

Everybody knew who you were.

I was still learning why.