Mourning Joe
If we were having coffee, then I would make it the way you like: two sugars, no cream. I could hear you say my name when we woke up. We could sit and talk for hours. We would laugh at how my mother keeps telling me that my eggs are dying and my dad can only talk in depth about the Dodgers. Everything else might be too informal a topic for him.
If we were having coffee, you would be sitting next to me. You would be holding my hand. I would gently tap your arm when you told a joke as my flirting has only gotten worse since we got engaged. We would talk about next steps. We would talk about where we're moving and what color dress I am going to wear during the wedding. I am still partial to blue by the way. I know you wanted a traditional wedding, but you wouldn't have fallen for me were I a traditional girl.
If we were having coffee, I could look into your eyes and tell you how much I love you. I could say it over and over again just to make sure you know. I could say it one last time or twelve last times.
If we were having coffee, I wouldn't have woken up to your coffee cup shattered on the ground. A few days before, you said the pills were working. You were glad you had finally gotten help.
If we were having coffee, you would be alive. I wouldn't be at a funeral. I wouldn't be trying to explain why you felt that you needed to leave all of us that early November day. I wouldn't be giving this eulogy right now.
If we were having coffee Joseph, I would wear a white dress just for you.