Anyone who knows me personally, knows that my all time favorite show is Grey’s Anatomy. I mean, I am one of those ‘I’ll cut you with my imaginary scalpel if you interrupt me while I’m watching Grey’s’ kind of fans. It’s bad. For others at least. I live for Thursday evenings. Since way back in 2006, I’ve been in love with the story, plot and growth/ evolution of the characters and concepts on Grey’s Anatomy.

For the 16th day of NaPoWriMo, I have a poem inspired by tonight’s episode of Grey’s Anatomy. Derek is missing and the team is reeling in the midst of a plan crash that brings back all too many hard to swallow memories. Just when Mer and Der are soaking in the most beautiful essence of the life they’ve come to live, things seem to halt. As if all is suspended in air.

Knowing how creator, Shonda Rhimes can be with her fascination of killing characters off, I am sitting on the edge of my seat, praying Derek is not hurt. That he’s just somewhere, doing something, that keeps him M.I.A but still alive. In any regard, I have allowed myself to ponder the impossible: that Derek might not come back home to Meredith. 

As silly as it may sound, I always see my life in line with the lives of the team of Grey- Sloan Memorial. If Derek passes, just when things were so close to beautifully “perfect,” whatever that means, is too much to bear for my own imaginative fantasy of my personal love life.

Today’s NaPoWriMo poem, ‘Better Late Than Never… Or So They Say,’ highlights the thoughts I’ve considered. What if it’s too late? Is it really possible to be, better late than never? Is it? I don’t know anymore. I pray it is though. For my heart’s sake, I truly do. Do you?

Better Late Than Never… Or So They Say

Today I remembered you.

Or who you once were.

I think.

I remembered us, together.

Always munching on life.

Too bad.

You weren’t there.

When I arrived.

So I waited.

As long as I could.

Waited all day.

All night.

Waited in the rain, sleet and snow.

In tornadoes, hurricanes, and earthquakes.

Waited with all my might.

Until the day came.

When it was my turn.

My calling to change the page.

To report for duty.

To grow.

Or something like that.

But you never showed.

I never saw your face again.

Until the train pulled out the station.

With your face on the other side.

Of my window.

Staring in.

As I pulled out.

You came.

Too late.

You were late.

But hey.

Better late than never.

Or so they say.