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| To his mom he'll always be like this - four. To me he is 28 and my friend |
It's been eleven years and a bunch of weeks
Since I lost the son who had at last,
Become my friend in the days before he died,
All that father/son stuff finally gotten past.
Grief's a different thing observed inside
The griever; not at all what you expected.
Time does soften it a bit, but does not
Wash it all away and clean; the pain rejected.
Not a day goes by I do not think his name or find
Some trace, some thing about which he used to care
His drawings, journals in a box, a picture lying 'round the house
His drawings, even the old shirt of his I sometimes wear.
In his mother's mind he's always four years old.
To me he's twenty-eight, six-four, and just become my friend
It's different how we each remember him, but we do.
He's alive inside our grief with us, a pause but not an end.
Micah wondered once if someone would remember him
If he were gone, I think he sensed his time was brief.
I could tell him now that he is remembered every day,
With joy, pride and love, and even still a little grief.
© 2017 by Tom King
I've just spent a month with Gideon Micah. It is easy to imagine Micah with him. They both have big dimpled smiles and a laugh that relieves stress to everyone who hears it. Gideon Micah is far from a little boy just as Micah was. I can see Micah loving and laughing with our Gideon Micah. No, Micah will never be forgotten because it is impossible to forget his joy and heart. Hugs.
ReplyDeleteYou'd be surprised how many of Micah's friends and family named kids after him. Micah's life lives on in children. That's about right...
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