Where is he?
Where is he, the flesh of my
flesh, the soul of my soul?
God has taken him from me, and
I know not where or why.
I look for him every day, waiting
for a word, a sign, a familiar sound or sigh.
I look to the heavens and see white clouds drifting
ever so calmly; gentle winds aloft sculpt images of earthly
forms. I search deeply looking for a shadow of my son, but
he hides among the white wisps, in defiance of my stare.
I stand at his grave and peer into the emptiness below, waiting
patiently for a familiar voice or whisper. I struggle with a myriad
of thoughts that come all at once. My dry eyes well with emotion;
tears overflow and cascade off my cheeks, pitting the dry jagged dirt
that blankets my child’s final resting place.
I look to the right and see my own unmarked grave. It waits silently in repose,
beckoning me. In time, I will heed its call and lie side by side with my beloved son
and celebrate our reunion in the world to come.
Until then, I place a stone upon his stone and walk away bemoaning a life that ended
far too soon. If only I were able to roll back the clock; to spend just one more day with
him, but if not, one more hour, or even a minute, to embrace and to say ‘goodbye,’ just one