How is it possible?

How is it possible,
That you should be taken from us,
By a simple force,
By a random occurance,
By something I felt coming, but couldn't interpret,
By something malevolent.
You're still here!
You breath marks time with my heart.
Your voice resonates within my own.
My actions are still affected by your earthly needs.
You've never left, though I can't feel you like I want,
Can't hear you like I want,
Can't touch you like I want,
Can't make you laugh like I want,
Can't play with you,
Can't teach you,
My heart bursts with unfulfilled expression,
It comes out in glances heavenward,
In aches,
In prayers,
In conversations with Ani,
In tears, so many tears.
In loving prayers for health for other infants and toddlers I see.
In hopes and dreams for another sibling for my children.

Waves

I ride waves, all day long.
I bob and float, directionless.
I try to keep my head above water, but sometimes I choke.
I’m powerless to smooth out the depths or heights of the ebb and flow.
If I did have power, would I be able to curb the sadness but still free the joy?
Sometimes they’re confused, and I am lost, unable to feel straight.
Oddly, both the troughs and the peaks block my sight of what’s coming next.
My center, my gaze heavenward, seems like the only real refuge.
But sometimes it’s obscured as well by my weaknesses.

Odd

It's odd that when I look at a picture of Nate,
I feel like I'm looking inwards more than outwards.

Nate

I see Nate’s smile in a picture,
all at once I’m transported.
To a warm embrace,
To a wet, smacky kiss,
To a rocking chair with a book,
To a tickle wrestle,
To a squealing chase around the couch,
To a nite-nite kiss on Ani’s head,
To his weight in my arms,
To my apology to the skies for not protecting him.
To my conflict between wanting him here, and glad that he’s there.
My boy, forever you’ll be “Nate-Nate”, forever I’ll hear “Nite-nite Da-Da”.

Bleed

I bleed,
from two wounds, I bleed.
Yet do not die.
I shrink,
my confidence wanes,
yet I fight on.
My eyes dim,
I see the future as cloudy,
but I see the Now so clearly.

Other times

Other times in my life,
I've felt I'm not who I want to be,
without knowing who I'm to be.
Now I konw, but cannot completely get there,
but I remember being him for a few years.

Weary

I am weary.
I wait to dream,
I wait to rest,
I wait to heal,
I wait to fly,
I wait to regain what I've lost.
I wait to wait.
Waiting's OK,
but needing to wait sucks.

Darkness

Darkness,
It doesn't encroach,
but it's there.
Intimidating.
It blocks my sight past a few days.
Beyond that, all is uncertainty, fear.
Maybe I'll just acknowledge it, and keep it at bay.

Little guy who knew Nate.

So, we went to the kids' daycare to say hi to everybody and have Ani visit. While there, one of the teachers told Christy that a little boy, Nate's age, who played with Nate and was his friend will still, even now, every day or two, just look over to an empty space and say "Hi Nate.". I can't help but cry over this.

At once

At once, it's too hard, too ironic
for my heart to handle.
In the middle of our new house,
where we're accepting the start of our new life,
struggling to let go of our old, wonderful one,
I am forced to throw away things that remind me.
Remind me of our play, remind me of our laughing.
I'm not throwing Ani or Nate away, just physical things.
But all at once, it hits me how it feels like
I'm tossing things out.
My memory and love must persist,
I cling to them with all my might.
I will see them again, restored,
Nate in heaven,
Ani maybe here, certainly in heaven.
1000 years may seem like a day in heaven,
but a day seems like 1000 years without
your child.