Email Poem

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Today we spoke about my son, Michael,
particularly about his death
and of his only baby sister, Princess Alison
and how sad it was that the two never met.
Michael’s birthday was rapidly approaching.
That’s never been a good day for me.
I won’t sit here and lie,
on that day I stay at home alone and cry
and I seem to do the same thing on his death anniversary.
As of this writing, it’s been more than a decade since
my son was taken away from me.
I was told, “Time heals all wounds. Comfort will become yours soon,”
but I’m afraid that I’d have to disagree.
Time definitely makes things much easier.
The burden of grief seems to get less with each passing day.
I hate to burst your balloon but Time healing ALL wounds?
Some wounds never heal. Some wounds never ever go away.
Imagine the ultimate worst day of your life,
not just once but twice annually every year.
Imagine how it must be, being reminded twice annually
of the worst news any loving parent could ever hear.
“Your Son is dead,” are the constant words that fill my head
every birthday, every death day, every time.
Only on those two days do I feel totally lost in a maze
of misery, grief and loss all combined.

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