New here. And looking for people who understand. This is the loneliest place I’ve ever been...
I (Jan 2018)
And then there comes a day when he has hurt, lied and left so many times that when he turns again, all full of anger and blame, and heads out the door, down the walk, there isn’t a single tear left to tell him goodbye. So you just sit there in the window, in the silence, and watch him go.
II (April 2018)
When a son dies,
There is comfort and consolation,
Thoughts and prayers,
Condolences and kindness in the form of casseroles and cakes.
When a son leaves,
There is only emptiness.
Quiet where there once was chatter and laughter, argument and anger, remembering and planning.
His face smiles on the walls, stabbing at the heart that struggles still to beat, with the gaping hole left there by the loss of him.
But his name is never spoken because the pain of it would be too much to bear.
There is no time for mourning.
There are no memorials or eulogies or photo collages to remember happier times, to ease into the absence. No prayers, or even platitudes offered.
When a son leaves, he is just gone.
As if he never was.
III (July 2018)
I search for his face
in their faces.
The dirty ones,
peering out from under
piles of blankets
even though the sun is high
on this early summer day
in Orange County.
I know it will only get hotter.
Harder.
I used to wonder how they got there.
Now,
I know.
(Mother of 3 sons, estranged from 24yo middle with- lifelong history of ADD/ODD)
I (Jan 2018)
And then there comes a day when he has hurt, lied and left so many times that when he turns again, all full of anger and blame, and heads out the door, down the walk, there isn’t a single tear left to tell him goodbye. So you just sit there in the window, in the silence, and watch him go.
II (April 2018)
When a son dies,
There is comfort and consolation,
Thoughts and prayers,
Condolences and kindness in the form of casseroles and cakes.
When a son leaves,
There is only emptiness.
Quiet where there once was chatter and laughter, argument and anger, remembering and planning.
His face smiles on the walls, stabbing at the heart that struggles still to beat, with the gaping hole left there by the loss of him.
But his name is never spoken because the pain of it would be too much to bear.
There is no time for mourning.
There are no memorials or eulogies or photo collages to remember happier times, to ease into the absence. No prayers, or even platitudes offered.
When a son leaves, he is just gone.
As if he never was.
III (July 2018)
I search for his face
in their faces.
The dirty ones,
peering out from under
piles of blankets
even though the sun is high
on this early summer day
in Orange County.
I know it will only get hotter.
Harder.
I used to wonder how they got there.
Now,
I know.
(Mother of 3 sons, estranged from 24yo middle with- lifelong history of ADD/ODD)
