Go down in my dreams...
October is a month of reminders. A month that lines up neatly. Birthdays first, death anniversaries second. A one, two punch on my heart. And. Soul.
I don't openly grief for my mom any longer. That pain, like most everyone says, becomes less over the years. It is very much like an old injury or wound that aches when it rains. Or the weather changes. Like it often does in October. Yet another reminder.
The other grief is more removed. From afar. But still there. Lurking. A deep sadness for a dear old friend who struggles to live his life in a meaningful way on the other side of his son's death. A son that shared my name.
Like me, he has the one two punch in October. Birthday first. Followed by the death anniversary. On Halloween no less. Death playfully mocked in decorations and costumes that are too real for someone who has lost something so precious.
The dream is odd. Driving in a 1970s Grand Prix. We're in route, but I have no idea as to where. The car is full of my past. Memories. Stories. And a palpable sense of sadness that is a mixture of two that are gone. Chicken on the bone. A sweet smile. Tracy telling me something funny in her rapid fire cadence.
I awaken in a new month with James Taylor words stuck in my head.
Until I BLOG again...And rockabye sweet baby James.
I don't openly grief for my mom any longer. That pain, like most everyone says, becomes less over the years. It is very much like an old injury or wound that aches when it rains. Or the weather changes. Like it often does in October. Yet another reminder.
The other grief is more removed. From afar. But still there. Lurking. A deep sadness for a dear old friend who struggles to live his life in a meaningful way on the other side of his son's death. A son that shared my name.
Like me, he has the one two punch in October. Birthday first. Followed by the death anniversary. On Halloween no less. Death playfully mocked in decorations and costumes that are too real for someone who has lost something so precious.
The dream is odd. Driving in a 1970s Grand Prix. We're in route, but I have no idea as to where. The car is full of my past. Memories. Stories. And a palpable sense of sadness that is a mixture of two that are gone. Chicken on the bone. A sweet smile. Tracy telling me something funny in her rapid fire cadence.
I awaken in a new month with James Taylor words stuck in my head.
Until I BLOG again...And rockabye sweet baby James.
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