I have gotten the call and seen my beloved’s mangled motorcycle that once was shiny and new. I have seen is grey limp body wheeled quickly down sterile corriders as I moved in shadows and fog.
I have opened the email with shocking words of a denial of faith, ever more sorrowing over the distance, each word a pierce and a weight.
I have stood by the side of the road, barely breathing, as firefighters reclaimed my boy’s broken body with Jaws of Life. And I have helplessly watched him medivac-ed away by air to a trauma unit full of strangers when all I wanted was to hold him.
I have sung tearful songs, holding my Father’s hand, waiting for that last breath, wondering why so much pain for a life so well-lived.
And I have spread ashes to the wind of my wee firstborn . . . so…
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