(Yesterday’s sad event)
We stand before you, burying you again:
Seventeen months after your death,
One day ahead of the first anniversary of your burial,
And tears are as fresh today as then.
I’m not in denial—none of us are,
We know you’re gone,
But like a broken record
So many unanswered questions abound.
I’m elated to be with your siblings this weekend,
We’re celebrating in style—not!
That’s only an expression
That came to my inebriated mind.
Perhaps we’re in reflection mode,
Enjoying each other as we did
When you were with us,
And, oh, how I wish you were here.
Perhaps we think of other things:
Sadness, happiness—who knows.
I’m not privy to others’ minds.
I only know mine.
We all grieve differently.
Everyone misses you.
Everyone sheds tears
In their own way.
We brought Bud Light with us,
We pray, we speak, we remember.
We won’t forget you.
We never will. I never will.
I miss you so much, my son,
My middle child,
My only planned child,
Ironically, the only child I didn’t want.
A contradiction, for sure (there’s a story there!),
But all turned out okay in the end:
Your birth, your life.
All was okay until I couldn’t save you.
I tried so hard. With all my might.
I’d do the same for your siblings,
But I’m not God.
This world isn’t all about me;
I know that.
I’m just a peon in the universe,
Feeling bereft without one of my children.
Existing with a horrid hole,
Quashing aches within my soul,
Searching for a missing puzzle piece
With every breath I miss you,
I shout to the Heavens,
I shriek to God,
How can this be?
I want to say, “Rest in peace, my son,”
But that’s such a cliché,
And who knows, really, what you’re doing
Or where you are.
No one knows.
No one knows.
I just want the impossible.
RIP, my son.
Rest in peace.