Nik slips into my thoughts with practiced ease. At first,
these thoughts were rock hard, overwhelmingly powerful and painful. Time eases
the edges, wears them smooth, like seawater on glass. But sometimes, I see
someone that reminds me of my son, and the reminding feels like a vacuum, a
bottomless pit, and the thought of my son, my beautiful boy, dead and gone,
ashes to ashes and dust to dust, while this imposter walks tall and proud,
sends me backward in time, and the vacuum sucks me in.
And I wonder how I can keep on keeping on without him. How I
can live and breathe while he is not at all. It’s as if the swift passage of
time has come undone, and I am back to square one, set a drift in a sea of
agony.
I feel small and powerless, like a pebble caught in the
current, tumbling and turning. I tell myself that my tears, wet salt water, will
once again smooth over my grief. In the morning, new lines will be etched on my
face.
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