guilt-stained

Guilt-stained t-shirt hangs limply from my shoulders,
Then hugs my protruding beer belly.
My thin mosquito-bitten arms sway awkwardly,
As I stride along, ala Bugs Bunny,
Feet splayed out at 45-degree angles.
Mouth dry, eyes bloodshot,
Joints aching, sinuses plugged as usual.
Why do I do this to myself?
Binge drinking to lift my spirits,
Everything comes crashing down.
The trip to the cemetery was surreal,
Fresh flowers adorned the mound of dirt,
And we stood there looking down.
My daughter,
visibly upset because there was no headstone,
wrote Shi’s name in the ground at the foot of the grave.
B watched her and became teary-eyed,
As Z kept slamming doors and the trunk,
Looking for strawberries to give to his auntie.
The reality of it all hit me in the gut,
I was left breathless,
Wandered back to the car.
Warm summer day, kids yelling and playing in the distance,
And here was death resting at our feet.
Here was Shiloh,
Never to be seen or heard from again.
My wife starts sobbing in her weakest moments,
When no one is around,
When she thinks no one can hear.
I feel lost,
Feel regret for things done or half-finished,
Wanting to undo or complete this or that.
Her laughter and warmth is forever gone,
And I try hard to make her kids laugh,
Knowing full well it is to make myself feel better.