I write a poem in memory of my son Matthew every month on the 11th. I don’t always post them to my blog but I am today, being Remembrance Day.
Twenty months ago today
I laid my son—not his memory—
to rest.
With my every breath
I remember him,
whether my eyes are open or closed.
I see dragonflies, ladybugs,
faces in the clouds,
I find a coin beneath papers,
I feel gentle breezes, smell
the outdoors, listen to
whispers in the wind.
All for naught!
He’s above my computer,
watching while I work.
Some days I want to toss the canvas
through the window,
other days I grasp him to my chest.
These many months later
I still hear his last cries:
“I have a heart, Mom,
I have a heart.”
I’ll never forget.
I don’t want to forget.
I try to write my story—his story,
our story,
I need it told
but I face ruthless white
and can’t control tears.
How can I write of my dead son?
How can I put his death on paper?
Stately granite guarding remains
rises from the ground,
I caress the stone
and feel its warmth,
running my fingers over the etching
as if reading Braille,
Later when the sun exchanges
places with the moon—
after darkness covers day—
light will peek from Heaven
to highlight specks of blue and grey.
I’m a private person
living on repeat,
sharing sorrow with those who listen
and with those who don’t.
Another’s grief is uncomfortable,
and my pain’s not lessened with time served.
I didn’t ask for this position—
the grieving mother role—
I had prayed for miracles,
would have assumed the sun’s persona
and given him the moon
had I been able.
Death happened too suddenly—
too unexpectedly—
and before our next breath
he was gone,
without time for more prayer
or waiting for a miracle.
I’m not looking for sympathy,
I share to honour him.
I don’t need you to mop my tears
or quash my cries.
I fight my own battles
and survive my own wars.
I must keep his memory alive
until the day I die,
I need to remember.
So on this Remembrance Day
as I did last year and as I’ll do the next
and the next and the next and the next
until I die…
I honour the veterans
and though my son never served,
I honour him too.
Lest we forget.
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C.A. MacKenzie is the author of the novel WOLVES DON’T KNOCK, a psychological drama/thriller, available from the author or at various retailers, including Amazon at https://www.amazon.com/Wolves-Dont-Knock-C-MacKenzie/dp/1927529387/.
