Whisper Me This

by Kerry Anne King

If I had made a different choice way back then, Greg would be flying with us. Him, me, and Elle, the three of us, a traditional family. I try the idea on for size and shrug it off, like a coat that doesn’t fit. Elle is all the family I need.

He looks old and fragile, and my heart feels swollen and sick. Feverish.

All my childhood selves move with us, across the kitchen, down the familiar hall, into my parents’ room.

I’ve always thought grief would be one uniform texture of sadness, but mine is so many layers of guilt and anger and now laughter.