My grief spurts out like wasted blood, like brown snot, like the rain that rattles the roof, and my tears spill unheeded. I don't understand anything and I hate feeling like this. So lost. I want my blue eyed king to walk through the door. I want to hold him tight, to savor his scent, his soft skin, his low voice.
I think about you every day, Nik. About all the times I let you down. Wasted words that cut and burned. I'm so sorry. I wish you were here. I would have died for you, son. Nothing takes away this emptiness.
About Me
- Desire` Aguirre
- I live in Idaho with four cats, two dogs, and two horses. A free-lance journalist, I write for The River Journal, The Reader, The Sentinel, Sandpoint Magazine and Idaho Magazine. When my son, Niko, died May 8, 2008, I became a member of the worst day club. I returned to complete my senior year at LCSC and studied parental grief for my communications research project. It is my hope that by sharing my experience, strength, and hope with other bereaved parents, I will make sense of my son's death, learn how to live without his smile, and help other's trudge through the grieving process. My son's life gave me the courage to actively pursue my passions, and I learned how to play banjo, guitar, mandolin, fiddle, bodhran, bones, mountain and hammer dulcimer, and now write songs and am a member of the old time string band, "Ruff Shodd." For fun, I also write the blog "Harold the Ghost."
Nik, Desire` and DaNae Aguirre
family reunion, 2007
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