What I’d Tell You If I Could


Shortly after the search and rescue team found your body, your accountant called and said she’d had her aromatherapist blend a special floral concoction for me. She said it calmed her when her father died. I couldn’t help but think, “Did you like your dad?” Nothing short of ether might have soothed me, but it’s unlikely your accountant’s aromatherapist had a batch on hand.

Litsa Dremousis has a poignant essay at The Weeklings  about all the things she would tell a loved one who had died.

I never did get your homemade burrito recipe or convince you to reconsider “30 Rock.” As I write this, my Pomeranian Thomas is sprawled alongside me, asleep on his back. I’ve had him three years and occasionally tell him stories about you and pretend he understands. I wonder what you’d think of him.

I wonder what you’d think about almost everything.

Ashley Perez lives, writes, and causes trouble in Los Angeles. She has a strong affinity for tattoos, otters, cat mystery books, and actual cats, but has mixed feelings about pants. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Antioch University Los Angeles. She runs the literary site Arts Collide and does work of all varieties for Women Who Submit, Entropy, Jaded Ibis Press, and Why There Are Words. You can find her on Twitter at @ArtsCollide. More from this author →