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

last time.