In an Empty Room

In an empty room,
she sat and prayed
for love had left her old.

Her son had died
before his time
and now the years felt cold.

In an empty room,
where he once had slept
she filled with memories of joy.

It looked out on to his
garden green
where birds graced the flowers with song.

The light from the window
filled her heart
and at night the stars did glow.

Time did pass
and she found peace
whenever a song filled her soul.

She wears his locket
close to her heart
and sings her song loud and true.

The empty room
now filled with hope
for all who pass through.

Happy Birthday, Niko

I try to celebrate your birthday.

It’s a matter of balance, a connection

Like the glass pendant—a confection of your ashes

That shattered into 3 pieces—

Symbolic of the hearts you broke.

But one can’t capture a free spirit

In glass.

I’ll light candles

And watch the greening of our world

As the band plays on

Without your laugh

Your blue eyes

Your devastating smile

Your sharp wit

And your hearty embrace.

We’ll never get over it.

But glory be for

The month of Maying

The years we had together, and

The family and friends that make life bearable.

May 8

Niko-May 8

I want to see you

Folding laundry, bowling, dancing,

Or petting the dog.

You longed for freedom

And celebrated your upcoming 18^th birthday

Like there was no tomorrow.

I untied my apron strings,

Tired of your manipulations,

And longing for your love.

Everything is catty-wampus

Now that you are gone.

Painful memories, past and present,

Rear their head

Like a voracious dragon

I slash them with a magic sword

And say, holy, holy.

The Day Time Stood Still

Pain sharpens my memory—and so the day of my son’s death remains harsh and clear—as if it was in digital format, and protected by my shield of grief. At first, the pain felt so overwhelming that I did not think I would survive. I didn’t think I would ever write, or live, or love, again.

The shield of grief weighed at least a ton and felt like a suit of led. Four fleeting years have passed, and I have worn off some of the weight.  Like a glad gardener, digging in the spring soil searching for the sprouts of flowers bursting with life, I remove my helmet of led and dig through my memories, bypassing May 8, the day before my son’s 18th birthday, the day of his death, the day time stood still.

Now, the shield of grief has weak spots worn on it, like the patches on my old jeans, and I can choose my memories. I do not want to completely remove my suit of led. Indeed, I decide to put it on, because I do not want to ever forget my son. But now, I can caress the soft spots, the patches, as if they were my favorite pants, soft and comfortable.  I remember his laugh, his sharp wit—his brilliant blue eyes. I remember him snowboarding like a Greek god, cooking breakfast, or scrambling across the soccer pitch. I focus on the good things I did for him, like letting him adopt a puppy at the animal shelter and buying him a bass.

Because of my beautiful son, I now have a new perspective on life. I am more willing not to dust, deciding to cherish that sometimes illusive and challenging entity, time, and take the moment to call a friend or play that song on my banjo one more time. I have learned how to put fear in the back seat, and experience new and exciting adventures.

At first, I did not have a choice. It hurt to breath, and the blooming of the crocuses was an insult to my mental state. Now, I dig in the garden, my tears feeding the flowers. I have opened my door to life, to love, to creativity. I have the courage to pick up pen, brush, or musical instrument, and let loves vibrations fill me. 

I can see through the shield of grief.  I can dig through my memories to find my son’s smile. He is always only a thought away. He has become timeless, and so, he will always have life. And in an effort to find meaning in his death, I have found new ways to live.

I miss you, Niko, everyday. Happy Birthday.

Birthday Cactus

Nik died in May, and shortly thereafter, three flowers bloomed on his Christmas cactus. It has grown, but never flowered again. Until this month. I sat, mesmerized, watching the white blooms push their way out of the green, swaying toward the light from the window. I cried when I realized that the cactus would be in full bloom for my birthday.

Nik had a good heart and was generous. He loved to give me presents, and I think the flowers were his special gift for my 53 birthday. I touched the first flower that came to fruition. It's pedals were as soft as angel wings. Why, I wondered, did I receive such a magnificent gift, when my son didn't get to celebrate his 18th birthday?

I lie underneath the plant, looking up at the flowers, and felt like I was surrounded by graceful angels. I watered them with my tears, and thanked Nik for his wonderful gift.