I can feel it coming.
Every single day toward...what?
I'm not sure how to say it.
Certainly not a celebration.
Not a lot of things.
But something...worth the pain remembering brings.
Blue skies and yellow daffodils.
I can't wear brown pants because they remind me.
How do I plan for it?
The moving-on has happened all around me.
I pulled the wreath from the earth...drawing the stand legs out of the mud with a silent wish.
But there was only the same silence as from the beginning.
In my head I rearrange my house and realize my bed stands where the crib was supposed to be with a baby boy who never came home.
Today we set up the new room for the baby boy who did come home.
He sleeps in the same crib in a different spot.
And I weep.
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9 comments:
This is beautiful. But as usual, I am so sorry you have the occasion to write such beauty.
If this boy makes it, he will get the same crib his brother didn't (the same one their sister used-- it's a good solid wood number), and same room, once painted for his brother. I am scheming to change one thing in that room, as much for practical reasons as for psychological. I need to change something, but not much.
I am thinking of you as we go barreling towards May again.
One day at a time, one change at a time.
Even though I can say nothing to make this any more or less than what it is, I wanted you to know I'm here.
(((hugs)))
Hugs to you, my dear!
(((hugs)))
I think Aurelia said it best
Oh hon. It sucks.
That silence seems to scream sometimes. {{{hugs}}}
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