that's why i haven't written.
my heart still aches for my son.
the tears still trickle.
my chest still tightens.
i cry in the shower.
i cry before i go to sleep.
i sit and stare at his picture.
i hold a doll like it is my son
... but i hug it tighter than i could if it were him.
i still blame myself.
i still wish.
memories still snap into my consciousness.
my heart breaks over and over.
i move forward in time
dealing with all this and trying to harmonize my son's death into my life.
it never really works.
i "pinterest" and look at all the positive quotes I have collected
all the beauty and inspiration i have collected.
i see my psychiatrist.
i go to a support group.
i don't watch the news or read newspapers.
i do card exchanges, gift exchanges, get togethers.
i attend candle lightings, butterfly releases, birthdays for children that are not here.
i talk to my son.
i cry to him.
i wish i could dream of him.
|The old water pump at Chase Farm. It used to be right beside the barn.|