The following is a short story about loss.

Last night I dreamt of a kidney bean table. I sat across from a priest who conducted mass at our old church in the room which knew my first and last confession. The ivory colored room was hidden at the back of the church where it went unnoticed, and the stale air and soundproof walls made me wonder what else the room was used for. I quickly waved my thoughts away before God.

The experience broke my expectations of what confessions were like. In the movies, the sinner sat in a box with the priest beside them, separated by a dark screen. They could list their sins in alphabetical order without God’s piercing eyes directed at them. As long as the sinners were truly regretful and recited their Hail Mary’s, they were saved. Here, the priest sat directly in front of me, and I was forced to be upfront. He asked me to begin.

I confessed to slapping a boy I liked in the fifth grade because he dared me. I knew it was wrong but I thought it would impress him. I later cried when I was sent to detention. I thought it was the beginning of my decent. I also confessed to wearing and losing my mother’s Minnie Mouse earrings at school, even though I promised to be careful. My brothers got it for her when they went to Disney Land, and that made the accessory extra special. One of the earrings fell out before I noticed. I didn’t mean to lose it, but I hurt my mother and I was to blame.

My last confession was about my brother’s funeral. When the priest beckoned my family to say our last words, my siblings each stood at the podium. The anxiety rocked my bones and salt stained my cheeks as I sat like stone. The priest made a last call for goodbyes. The silence of the church stared at me- the last, heartless sister who couldn’t bring herself to expose her vulnerability. I couldn’t speak up, and I never did. And this was my last sin, that I was never there for my brother when he needed me.

When I finished my confession, I bowed my head in shame. The priest studied me quietly and clasped his hands together. He cocked his head to the side and sighed, “that’s a shame.”

I woke up with a fever and a cold sweat. I rolled over to the floral box by the side of my bed and picked out a photo of my family. There he was, his usual side smile. After a moment, I kneeled at my bed and rested my palms against my forehead, and for the first time in years, I prayed.

I wanted to say that I never took you for granted, that I appreciated everything you did, and you were always an amazing person in my eyes. I’m sorry I didn’t get to say that at your funeral. I wanted to say that I love you very much, and I will forever miss you.