I light the sandalwood incense, and the candles near your photos, put on Eva Cassidy's "Autumn Leaves," and through my wet eyes look at the flickering images of your sweet, beautiful face--allowing myself to grieve openly, for no one is here. The "missing you" is forever painful and so-much-there beneath the surface of all my interactions and activities. No one wants to think I am still so deep in sorrow. No, they see that I am engaged again with the world and have moved out of deep depression and darkness.
You, in your kindness and practicality, would want me to be "okay," I know, Jonathan.
But still I think of you when I click on the email--hoping for some ghostly reassuring playful message--and when I sit on my front porch observing the changing colors of the dogwood tree as the squirrels scamper around and birds chirp happily at the feast of fall berries, you are there in my mind and heart, as you are when I close my eyes at night--so many images of you, at every stage of life--all of them precious.
I grieve for all the mothers of the world who have lost children--through earth quakes, mudslides, tsunamis, illness, violence, war. If only we could all experience the luxury of grieving together, comforting one another through our tears, coming together in one vast embracing hug.
Bless you, Jonathan. Your October 11th birthday is almost here. I'll bake a pineapple upside down cake in your honor. I give you an ethereal kiss and hug. We send you undying love.
Your Mom and David
You, in your kindness and practicality, would want me to be "okay," I know, Jonathan.
But still I think of you when I click on the email--hoping for some ghostly reassuring playful message--and when I sit on my front porch observing the changing colors of the dogwood tree as the squirrels scamper around and birds chirp happily at the feast of fall berries, you are there in my mind and heart, as you are when I close my eyes at night--so many images of you, at every stage of life--all of them precious.
I grieve for all the mothers of the world who have lost children--through earth quakes, mudslides, tsunamis, illness, violence, war. If only we could all experience the luxury of grieving together, comforting one another through our tears, coming together in one vast embracing hug.
Bless you, Jonathan. Your October 11th birthday is almost here. I'll bake a pineapple upside down cake in your honor. I give you an ethereal kiss and hug. We send you undying love.
Your Mom and David
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