Four Years

It's not my son, but except for the man bun, it could be. He had a similar blue shirt he wore a lot and he was a skateboarder. This guy, he made me lonely for my son when I saw him.

That light. Those shadows. Memories. Vignettes from a dream. 

Every year, I buy a piece of pottery from the December Student Art Show. It's my way of remembering my son's life and honoring his memory.

12.08.15

Four years.

I was recovering from surgery. Weak and vulnerable.

Flashbacks.

I am rendered unable to write complete sentences.

So much shadow.

So much light.

Vignettes of loss.

Longing.

Joy.

 

Gratitude. 

 

Love.

 

 I've heard it said that the pain of grief is the price we pay for love.

There was a time when I would have said I'd just as soon not love or be loved

if I could escape the pain of loss. 

I know now that too would have been a sort of death,

and not at all the the life I would have wanted to live.

Yes, I had a son, and loved my son.

Yes, he is now gone from me.

I have lost.

But also, I have loved.

And it was a good strong love.

I'll carry his love forever in my heart.

And the memories will bring me comfort.