Sitting cross-legged on the rough carpet in front of the TV
I was still; everything, my lungs sucking in greedy gasps of air,
my heart, pumping infinite cycles of blood through my limbs halted,
froze to a stop. I was a deer caught in the headlights and the TV’s
eerie glow held fast to my attention, forcing me to hear this tragedy.
As the story rolled I saw it fold out in front of me: a mirror of my
world: A husband, wife, eight-year old daughter, and two sets of twins-
ages five and two. The family picture shown on the screen made me think
of Christmas, two years ago. We wore red, too, and our background was
the same shade of bronze. Suddenly with a lurch from deep inside
it all fit together; it could have been me. It could have been my father
who was laid off work right after my mother. It could have been them
who sat at the round table in our kitchen, planning desperately,
grasping every option, feeling them out with frantic fingers before
throwing them away. No good, won’t work. Their frightened eyes
raising at the same time to rest on each other; a solemn and sinister
decision made. It’s the only way... My stomach toils with remorse
and feeling sick and twisted, the image of my mother with my two
twin brothers lying still, never to move or worry again, myself
with my two sisters asleep forever, and finally on my father,
dead, a pistol resting beside him. I am shaken with grief when
I finally pull my flooding eyes away from the TV. I turn to look
behind me at my mother, sighing and scratching her head at the
mound of envelopes in front of her. When I turn back to the screen,
it is not my face reflected hazily; the tears on my cheeks were hers.

May You Finally Rest In Peace, Lupoe Family