It has been almost a month since I lost my son. I think it is interesting that that is the language used around the death of a baby, "She lost her baby at 23 weeks" No one says life took him, or he left, I lost him is what they say.
I went to the cemetery and left an ornament and a small tree at his grave. This is all I can do now. Keep his body's resting place kept up, bring small mementos, find peace in ritual. I bring a symbol of peace, leave it at his grave, I come home with a broken heart. This is our ritual.
I recently deactivated my Facebook. Fret not world of social media. I'll be back when its time.
Does the tree at that knot twenty
feet up feel its missing rib, the way
I feel you gone these long years? Loss
plays us like a violin, never free of its rub.
It simply lessens its intensity till only the
one closest to what was lost can hear it.
If you haven't lost something or someone,
this will seem sad, even frightening. But
after a century of heart-time, I went to
the immortals who envy us our ability
to feel and forget. They looked at me
with their longing to be human. And
the saddest among them took my hand
and said, "I would give eternity to live with
what you're given, and to feel what is
opened by what is taken away."
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