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Parents of lost babies and potential of all kinds: come here to share the technicolour, the vividness, the despair, the heart-broken-open, the compassion we learn for others, having been through this mess — and see it reflected back at you, acknowledged, understood.

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Thursday
Aug152013

The Chill

I love this time of year, right up until the moment
when I feel the chill in the summer eve.

The back of my arms legs neck, the slight scent of decay.

We're bright and beautiful in the summer sun
and then nightfall
and night breeze
and the darkness spreads around me.

We fucked up last year.  We didn't prepare.
Too consumed by the stunning child in our haunted lives
the rage and sadness and death and madness
snuck up, as only memories can do.

Five years without Silas.
A blazing son on his way to his amazing birthday
that instead is merely anniversary.

That first chill of late summer orients my soul.
Distracted by the wild life and breathing love
I suddenly feel exactly like the night we collected the birthing tub.
The indigo evening, the creaking crickets, the harbingers of doom;
they are now his silent calls made mine, made into
the broken sounds of hope stilled, that future killed.

I love this time of year,
but I cannot breathe in the gorgeous evening summer breeze
as my love for Silas falls from my wet, silent eyes,
and I die a little more inside, again,
wanting him quietly, deeply, desperately as dusk settles.
Waiting for his breath I sit still,
chilled to my bones in the sweet summer eve.

~~~~~

Please post a poem or prose rant to your lost child.  My son would have been five years old on Sept. 25, and instead I just get Fall.  What do you get?  What have you found?  What can any of us do about being part of this tribe?

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Reader Comments (5)

I hear you. My son would have been five years old on September 30th. Instead, I get spring. Awesome trade off, no? Fall (autumn) somehow seems more appropriate, if there is such a thing. Instead I get nature laughing at us. New life. Color. Blue skies and birds singing. My grief season is already beginning as I look out the window.

This year we are lucky enough to be expecting our second rainbow. It makes for a confusing time that I'm sure no-one but the baby lost can understand.
August 15, 2013 | Unregistered CommenterBir
Until you, i lived in world that somehow made sense,
Colour existed, dreams came true,
In that world, you got pregnant and had a baby,
Until you,
Until you, death was something id known but never felt,
I sympathised with those who lost,
It touched my heart but never tarnished my soul,
Until you,
Until you, i operated on plans and schedules,
Im breathing, merely existing, far from living,
I used to smile, laugh without reason, it touched my heart
Until you,
Until you, death was something id known but nevervfelt,
I sympathised with those who lost,
It touched my heart but never tormented my soul,
Until you.
August 15, 2013 | Unregistered CommenterJo-Anne
I hate July. I hope there comes a time where water fights and sunburns replace the creeping hurt of missing her all over again. I am a year out.

This is what it feels like to love a ghost:
Sometimes I lose my breath wondering who will kiss your head and tuck you in and keep you safe and warm.
And if joy is the sun, grief is the moon, reflecting joy's light back with silent grace.
Sweet Clementine, I miss you so.
August 16, 2013 | Unregistered CommenterJanet
She would have been five today.
Instead, five years gone.
August 19, 2013 | Unregistered CommenterSally
You have an amazing way with words, Chris -- I have missed your writing!
September 2, 2013 | Unregistered Commenterloribeth

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