Grief

I watched her wipe the tears away, when
her hands weren't busy twisting the broken
keychain. "I try," she said, "I try so
hard to carry on, to be the strong one.
I've prayed so long for this- this
pain- to go away, for me to be happy. But it's
so hard, so hard when it all comes crashing
down."
She continued to explain, I
continued to listen, feeling like
I should cry with her or bake cookies
or call up these people who could not
or would not support her and tell them off;
she was laboring under something so large
that I could not understand.
She cried, I clenched
my hands into useless fists. When
most of the moment was gone, she left
to find a phone charger so that
she could comfort her grieving aunt.
I watched her leave, thinking
of islands and men and God and the
ingredients for chocolate chip cookies.





I also thought, Why God, why? I know what people would say why, but why?
It's so painful to not know how to help someone, because I always want to make them cookies and it never does much at all.