Speed Dial Number Three

It’s been five months, thirteen days

Since it happened.

Five months, twelve days

Since I found out.

Five months, five days

Since your funeral.

And five months, twenty-three days

Since the last time I ever heard your voice,

The last time I ever spoke to you

And heard you speak back.

Five months, twenty-three days.

And I still hate myself

Because I can’t remember if I said “I love you” or not

When we hung up the phone

That very last time.

Five months, thirteen days.

And I still hate the fact that that day,

So completely, mind-shatteringly awful,

Was so completely normal for me.

I was in class when it happened.

Five months, twelve days.

And I can still hear Mom’s voice, waking me at two in the morning,

Telling me what happened

And I can still feel the way I felt inside when I burst into tears

That I didn’t think would ever stop falling.

Five months, five days.

And I’m still sorry that I was so afraid

To go up to your coffin.

I’m so sorry.

I just didn’t want to see you like that

Because I didn’t want it to be real.

Five months - will there come a time when I stop knowing the days?

In my phone, you’re still the number I hit as I take my phone from my pocket

Speed dial number three.

And it asks…

Do you want to call Daddy?

Of course I do.

But speed dial number three

Doesn't reach the stars.