Competition Twenty-Eight Shortlisted: Grief Has Good Manners by Harry Humber
He arrives after dusk, wearing a charcoal suit and a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He hands you lilies. “For your loss,” he murmurs, and you nod, though you haven’t told anyone yet.
He takes off his shoes at the door and compliments your wallpaper. He sits at your table, straight-backed, hands folded. You pour tea. He stirs his silently. Later, he says little during dinner, except to note how tender the roast is, how quiet the house has become.
Grief has good manners. He doesn’t interrupt. He waits for you to speak, then nods as if every word is poetry. He keeps to the guest room, though you never offered it. He leaves no mess. Not even a shadow lingers when he passes down the hallway.
And yet, his presence is everywhere.
He’s there when you brush your teeth, standing just outside the mirror’s reach. He’s there when you sleep, breathlessly still at the edge of the bed. Once, you wake to find your hand in his and hold on a moment too long.
He doesn’t scream or sob. He doesn’t ask for more than you can give. But he listens—so well that eventually you speak only to him.
Seasons change. The lilies wither, replaced by fresh bouquets. He brings them every Sunday now. He thanks you, always, for your hospitality.
You try to tell him it’s time. That surely he must have another house to visit, another dinner to attend. He smiles gently, and offers no response.
And then you notice it. His coat hangs next to yours. His shoes are aligned beneath the bench. His belongings have crept into the shelves and drawers. In fact, he’s folded into the very fabric of your days.
And suddenly you realise… Grief has moved in for good.
Harry is an amateur writer, which is a fancy way of saying no one’s paid him yet, but it hasn’t stopped him from telling stories or inventing entire worlds in his head. This piece is one of several where he tries to make sense of grief, because therapy is expensive, but metaphors are free.
Photo by Lara Farber at Pexels
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It is not true that time heals all wounds.