Who is Ani? I know.

A dancer dances...
In her heart,
In the images in the mist of tears that cloud my eyes.
But her body is not her own.
A singer sings...
In her heart,
In the echoes of happier times that fill my ears.
But her voice is not her own.
A painter paints...
In her vision,
In my memories of the beauty of this world she once pointed out.
But her expression is not her own.
A little girl loves...
In the subtle arm movements,
In the mournful vocalization I think is song,
In the beauty she sometimes sees,
In the smile as I move her body,
In the sparkle in her eye as I sing to her,
In the giggle when I am silly.
And her heart is her own.
And my heart is hers.

Sometimes...

Sometimes I stare,
and the world has disappeared.
Sometimes I listen,
and my heartbeat is gone.
Sometimes I'm introspective,
and wonder where I've gone.
Sometimes my world seems so small,
and I am alone.

Just below the surface

The tears are always there,
below the surface where others can't see them.
They are between me and my world,
they affect my perceptions,
and use any excuse to escape.
There are times when I feel like I'm floating on them,
bobbing on the waves of sadness.

Every day

Every day is a struggle, still, to keep myself intact.
Every day is a journey, inching closer to who knows where.
Every day is an emotional one-foot-in-front-of-the-other rollercoaster.
Every day I’m scared at some point.
Every day I’m sad at some point.
Every day there are moments where I escape.
Every day I search for strength and endurance.

The weight, my son.

Your weight on my arm, my son, was uplifting.
The weight on my heart now, my son, is crushing sometimes.
Your tug on my hand to play, my son, was energizing.
Pulling myself through each day without you, my son, is draining.
Your uplifted gaze to me, my son, was entrancing.
My glance at an empty room, my son, is a dull painting.
Your laughter in my ears, my son, was music beyond the orchestras of this world.
The silence now, my son, is discordance in my world.
I look ahead, my son, to be weighed down, tugged, looked at, and laughed with.
That will surely be heaven, my son.

Splintered

I am splintered,
I no longer feel whole.
Once integrated,
I now feel that I switch from one “me” to the other,
depending on the situation.
Still me, they are facets that are sundered from each other,
separated by grief for a little boy,
and concern for my special daughter.

Yelling...

I scream sometimes,
but not aloud.
I pound my fist on the table,
but there's no thump.
I argue with the wind,
but no logic avails me.
I am angry sometimes,
but there's no useful target.
So it burns itself out
without you even knowing.

How long is a year?

How long is a year?
At once it is infinitesimal, fleeting,
but also it is arduous and tortuous.
As you can live a lifetime in minutes,
so it is compounded by months.
A year can seem longer,
when you see so many years to come.
Busy, or quiet, the time passes unevenly,
like your life is stop-and-go traffic.
The escape of activity is followed
by the uneasy introspection of silence.

How beautiful...

How beautiful, in dance, is a child.
Where bouncing hair is the essence of joy.
How interesting, in voice, is a child.
Where a squeal can never be expressed with words.
How endearing, in hugs, is a child.
Where a bear hug is an expression of love, not strength.
How humbling, in a look, is a child.
Where their gaze is of complete confidence in you.
How graceful, in spirit, is a child.
Where "I do" is the norm, not "I can't".
How undeserved, as a gift, is a child.
When God gives you this incredible package.

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.

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.

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.

Enough?

Ani,
If I love you enough, will you shine?
If I love you enough, will you dance?
If I love you enough, will you sing?
If I love you enough, will you fly?
I try every day, and I get a little more from above, but can I love you enough?
If I love you enough, will I earn the way you look into my eyes?

To Nate

Nate,

Your name stirs my heart, both joy and sadness.
Your image in my mind evokes our games, and your casket.
Your voice in my memories reminds me of pure happiness, and pitiful silence.
Your smell brings back tickling, and flowers.
Your eyes draw me in, and beckon me heavenward.
Your soul, your soul, I don’t need to remember, it’s with me.

Prayer for Ani

Oh God,

Instead of a stiff body, let it be flexible and right feeling.
Instead of a pukey tummy, let there be good tasting food and a full feeling.
Instead of cold toesies, let her warm them by dancing.
Instead of clenched fists, let her hold our hands.
Instead of a wandering eye, let her point out colors in the sunset.

Hollow

I am hollow, my grief echoes inside of me. Instead of diminishing, it grows louder, until I answer it, then it fades to an ache.

I am hollow, my love for a son rattles around, seeking an expressive avenue, until I send it heavenward, but it brings little physical comfort.

I am hollow, my hopes for a daughter’s future feel cloudy and insubstantial, until I give them up and tell her I love her.

I am hollow, my charge as a protector feels empty, like I have failed, until I hold my wife or make my daughter laugh.

I am hollow, like my heart is separated from me, until I am reminded of a eternity with my lost loved ones.

I am hollow, please remind me that I am solid.