To the One Who Had to Grieve the Parent They Never Really Had

You call them every Sunday
to remind them to take their medication,
to check whether their voice sounds off.
You smile through the guilt, the resentment,
and the longing, like it’s etched into your skin.

Yet there’s a quiet loss you don’t talk about
because how do you mourn someone who is still alive?

You were the listener when you needed to be heard.
You were the peacemaker, when you needed to
be protected. You explained the world to them,
when they should have been
explaining it to you. You learned
to scan rooms for tension before
you learned to tie your shoes.
You learned how to keep the peace
before you learned how to
ask for comfort. You
soothed them through
their pain before anyone
ever asked about yours.

You remember every fight.
The shouting. The
slammed doors.
The silence that
stretched for days.

You stepped in, not because you
were asked to, but because no
one else would.

You were the fixer. The child turned counsellor.


Excerpted with permission from Letters From Your Therapist: On Love and Loss by Kareena Mehta