I Miss You

Yesterday my sanctuary failed me. I could feel nothing. No words came to me. It was a certain kind of emptiness that was unsettling. All I could do was stare out, watching the clouds move and the darkness cover the sun.
Despite the troubles of yesterday, I still returned, hoping and pleading with myself. I was treated to some low lying clouds that made the mountains seem mystical. I hiked up to the ridge as the sun began to peak out from the clouds. This time words were coming to me. Thoughts were coming to me.
And so many memories of our boy. They came crashing into me. I turned the music louder trying to drown out the despair until I could breathe again.
I sat with my books and my writings. The memories continued to hit me and I sat with so much sadness and despair.

Morning Poem
Every morning
the world
is created
Under the orange

sticks of the sun
the heaped
ashes of the night
turn into leaves again

and fasten themselves to the high branches-
and the ponds appear
like black cloth
on which are painted islands

of summer lilies.
If it's your nature
to be happy
you will swim away along the soft trails

for hours, your imagination
alighting everywhere.
And if your spirit
carries within it

the thorn
that is heavier than lead-
if it's all you can do
to keep on trudging-

there is still
somewhere deep within you
a beast shouting that the earth
is exactly what it wanted-

each pond with its blazing lilies
is a prayer heard and answered
lavishly,
every morning,

whether or not
you have ever dared to be happy,
whether or not
you have ever dared to pray.
- Mary Oliver

Nature continues to call to me. Even as these memories slam against me.
I breathe.
In.
Out.

A bluebird flies to a nearby tree and hops up and up. Oh how I love sitting in nature and witnessing so many beautiful creatures. And how these creatures can just be. How wild and free.
Despite all this beauty, there is still so much pain. Pain for knowing our boy should still be here. And how much he loved life. And how he taught us to be wild and free.
And to love.
And to live.
And to be kind.
He was our whole world. And then he wasn't. And here we are wondering what our world is now. I seek this nature and way of being in hopes of figuring out what is next. How our hearts will go on, how we can open ourselves back up to this world. How to honor his death and make sure his life is never forgotten.
And I cry. Nature brings these tears once more. I think I'm so numb and unfeeling and not for this world. But I sit here with the gentle breeze and the sun blazing against my back and I'm reminded I'm alive.
Breathing.
Living.
Loving.
And maybe I'm not as closed off as I think I am. Maybe I'm not as numb as I think I am. But oh how I wish I could keep these feelings after I leave the ridge. And explain to people why I love coming here and how I find myself here again and again. How I try to live again. Love again.
The bluebird flies off, soaring high above in the sky. I crave that freedom. That wildness. If I crave something, then I must not be so lost. Am I?

I miss you dear boy. I miss you.