Just when I thought you packed up and left,

When I finally felt free…

There you appear at my front door,

again.

I should’ve known it was you.

Your gentle knock of secret, unexpected tears.

My lagging appetite.

Ever-growing apathy.

Dear Grief,

What triggered your return?

I’m guessing the random prom picture I saw on my timeline.

Two teens: one in a bright, electric blue dress with dainty sequins. The other wore a beige corsage. A radiant garden in the background permeated the photo.

Both wore gentle smiles of expected excitement, with an effervescent euphoria.

All that was missing was my daughter. She wasn’t in the picture or any high school dance/prom pictures.

The world and most people see death as the primary allowance for you, grief, and rightly so.

Losing a loved one is a series of emotions that sometimes never fully go away.

But grief, you funny creature, are secretive.

You crept to my front door cloaked in reality.

You, grief, are a product of parenting a “differently-abled” teen.

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