Grief is tremendous. Such a heavy burden to bear. It’s emotional and physical, cutting down to the bone.
This love was so consuming from the minute he was born; why does it still shock me, this pain that I endure?
I think back to all the time wasted. The weeks, the months and years. I was always chasing. Chasing a recovery that wasn’t really mine. Chasing a boy who was lost in his own mind. Praying for a miracle, believing he’d be well. I never would’ve believed I’d be living in this hell. If I had known how it would end…I suppose I would do the same.
I remember times I’d “find” him, as if he was really lost. In truth he was always exactly where he wanted to be. His journey was his own so, he couldn’t involve me.
Street corners, parks or the library are places I would search. Sometimes I got lucky, and Wow! There he was. As if this meeting was divine. Is it divinity though, when you put in so much time? Whenever I would see him, I never could just look. I’d always have to touch him and look to see his breath.
It’s so hard to break the habit of looking out for him. I see a boy in a hoodie and I try to see his face. I drive and park outside of the place where I last saw his face. I stalk the building where I’m told he took his last breath.
I know that he won’t be there and I know those boys aren’t him. There’s a little part of me that can’t forget, these hopeful eyes of this mother looking for her son. Ready if I saw him, to open my arms and run.
Run to hug him, kiss his forehead; to tell him he is loved. That I believed in him. He could come to me, I would help him to get clean. He seldom did, I never could.
I can’t stop looking but I should. It’s easy now to sit and talk with him for hours. To talk and talk while I fidget with the flowers.
I’m not sure if he can hear me when I talk at his grave. If he can then he knows how much I wish I had protected him from monsters.
I tried like when he was little and they hid under the bed. This monster wasn’t killed by light. It killed my light instead.