It drives me nuts sometimes… knowing that I can’t see you anymore.
The fact that you are gone… dead. It isn’t right.
I can’t touch you. I can’t hear you. And I know that as much as you are gone…
You are gone.
And yet, you are here.
I dream of you on a ledge and I beg you not to jump. I conjure the dream here at my desk,
And I hope I can see your face.
And it seems that with every passing day, it is hard to find those moments in my memory
That you are in.
And sometimes I dream I see you at the base of a gigantic concrete wall, rising above the two of us…
And you do not hear me. And it fills me with dread.
There is in this world, fear. And when your child has been ripped from you…
You know this fear- like none other.
There is a beast that follows and cleans up the mess.
He erases all traces… as he tidies up
And people, who like me, once loved you, my son… no longer speak your name.
They have forgotten… and like words written on blowing sand,
There is another monster, that follows me and laughs at my decisions.
It points at my efforts to grieve my loss… and calls them out as stupid and silly.
And yet another creature tells me that I will always be sad. That I can never, ever be happy again.
There is another beast that stands ready… with strong detergents and scrubbing brushes
To wipe away your memory. And he steals the lines of your face, and pulls the sound of your laughter out of the air.
Another drives me to ruin relationships, to destroy the people I have over the one I have lost.
Another tells me that there are stages to grief- like boxes on a wheel… and that they run in a cycle, sometimes, without order sometimes, As I jump from one box to the next he grabs at my feet to keep them in this box or that one.
And this monster asks me to explain what I can’t explain. He puts on a different mask and introduces himself politely, and then in innocent tones, he asks and ask.
And that monster,the worst one… every day tells me that I have lost my wife… forever… or that my other son is gone, too. And he tells me that I will be alone. And sometimes, that I am alone.
And I fear these monsters
Because they aren’t like the dream I conjure of you, my son.
These monsters are real.