Heather Romero-Kornblum

Roadside Unassist

I almost left you by the side of the road, earlier this week

I didn’t because I’m pathetic

because I wanted to look my son in the eye, after

because I don’t forget as easily as you do what I inflict on others 

Because all I could do was scream – 

my throat the only part of me that worked in that moment

The next day, I took my son to an appointment in a building I remember well,

on a street that made up so much of our past life and memories;

some of the ‘happy times,’ as I euphemistically refer to many years of our marriage

‘Honesty or out!’ I screamed as we careened up the 5

I did not leave you by the side of the road

I completed the drive with you and put you in an Uber

Those happy times, while happy with dinners, movies, dancing had tinges of sleights of hand

sideswiped and screaming for honesty

These days, I usually know better than to scream for honesty

I didn’t know that 9 years into our relationship, you would laugh in the background on a 911 call 

    (or maybe it was a triage nurse who then called 911) 

        saying you can revive me with CPR you learned in one high school hour 

            and you wouldn't epi me till full throat closure and me being unconscious 

                for at least 2 minutes while the operator screamed on speaker 

‘                    Don't listen to him ma'am – you must epi yourself now!’

One time, I struggled to remember how to use the EpiPen and the operator begged you to help me. 

When the paramedics showed up, you pretended not to know what was wrong.

In the ambulance, I mentioned to one paramedic that you said you could revive me with that high school CPR, and he said not to trust your judgment, as his eyes widened 

The next day, taking my son to the appointment,

I couldn't stop shaking

I couldn't stop shaking

Breathe

Kintsugi as Perpetuated Grief

I imagined us like Kintsugi 

beautiful because of the cracks,

better because of the cracks;

highlighted, gilded, 

stronger at the seams

There were so many cracks

gold filler consumed the original vessel

It must have value, I thought about the gold,

as I continued to sink cost

Unreality

The first time I touched someone else’s penis

I didn’t want it anymore

There was nothing wrong with it

I found myself dissociating as he rubbed my nipples

It was everything from your doctor trying to give me your driver’s license,

to your sister and her stories of how she thought – a misunderstanding – that I said you would kill her

How do I explain this to my son?

I asked, my voice, my body, my all cracking

Then, you ghosting again

‘Not in his right mind,’ your doctor tried to explain about the situation, previously

Alone again cleaning out more remnants of our life from the storage unit

you promised not to stick me with, this time

This morning, I explained to my new pulmonologist that yes,

I survived anaphylactic shock on a 17-hour epi drip – 

and POTS, pulmonary emboli and cousins, a heart attack, adrenal insufficiencies,

hypo- and hyper- glycemias, a bleeding and clotting disorder, something autoimmune, 

and after ten years, you leaving (mostly) permanently two days after a liver biopsy

None of that matched the smell of the other penis owner’s cologne on my arm

When is grief too much?