i prefer the darkness of a sunrise.

it is forgiving. non-judgmental.

it allows me to feel how i feel most mornings.

childless. motherless.

the guilt that comes along with it.

i remember all of my dreams.

in them i do everything differently.

write my history differently.

i erase losing loved…

--

--

“Dad, I tested positive for COVID.”

“What?”

“Dad, I cannot come Christmas Eve.”

In the tradition of my Italian culture, fish is eaten on Christmas Eve. This would be the first Christmas Eve my dad ever hosted without my mom.

He was proud when he told me he found the…

--

--

i am not sure when

i stopped breathing

i was so good. for so long.

taking a deep breathe in

1.2.3.4.

my lungs filled with air

unlike decades ago.

camel cigarette smoke for as long

as i could hold it.

breathe out circles slowly.

i felt a warm buzz that…

--

--

i finally whisper these words to myself

“i will die someday.”

i could never imagine in my 50 years that i would say that.

i finally did. just a few days ago.

i realized i will probably die after my 82 year old father who relies on our 7:30 am, 12:30 pm, 5:30 pm, and 7:30 pm daily calls.

my husband will be fine.

i was able to reconcile in my mind that the 2 most important human beings in my life since my mother died will be dead. or okay.

there is a sense of, i take a deep breath in, slow deep breath out

that i will die. and be okay.

--

--

adriana suriano

adriana suriano

i am a first generation italian-american who grew up in southern new jersey. Life is amazingly beautiful and devastating. Sometimes in the same day.