For twenty-three months I have been in mourning, grieving the death of my youngest child. It’s not something I share much. Only a few people know. I long ago perfected the art of the social mask, so I suppose most people would be incredulous were I to share the truth of the suffering. And there is absolutely nobody who can or is willing to take action to better the situation. For the most part, I understand why. But there is rage simmering inside that won’t abate. It will kill me one day.

What happened is hard to describe because I’ve never been told the particulars. But the reality is that my heart was torn from me in a cruel and humiliating way, and the agony is unbearable. To never have had the chance to say goodbye to someone I carried in my body and nurtured at my breast. Someone I felt so blessed to share life’s journey with, and then so unexpectedly lost has left me bitter. Abandonment by any means is still abandonment. It is devastating, and it is an all too familiar theme in my life. It’s emotional poverty.

Those stages of grief as described in the Kübler-Ross model? I’ve experienced them all, and on a continuous loop. It’s the carousel of torture that wreaks havoc in my head, and has damaged my health. But I can’t stop it, and I can’t jump off.

God and I are not speaking as of late. But I still send up prayers: keep him safe; keep him healthy; let him know love; let him remember his mother loves him; let him forgive me; let me forgive him.

Most often now, my prayer is: take away my longing; take away my love for him; let me forget him; just make it all stop.

Let me forget him. Please please please!

No funeral. No goodbyes. No closure. Just an ugly gaping wound that will never heal. This was not of my choosing. It was his agency, and the damage done was calculated and intentional. Now it seems there is no way out. It is madness, and I am not well.

Let me forget him.

(c)GoshGusMusic (ASCAP) 2020

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