Mourning Matinee

My grief for my dad wants company.

It yearns to settle into a comfy velvet movie theater chair and be flanked by loved ones, the place packed like a Friday night in 1998.

Vivid sepia toned memories of my dad flashing across the big screen while we absentmindedly empty our popcorn bags and sip from oversized sodas, tears streaming down our faces even during the funny parts.

When the credits roll, all that’s left are tombs of buttery, unpopped kernels and cups of melting ice. The lights come up and pierce our puffy eyes as we all agree it ended far too soon.

Grief remains seated while others file out until the theater is quiet, bright and empty. It stays in its seat until the next showing begins.