A decade of July
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In whispered winds, a sorrow's breath,
A cherished soul embraced by death.
A heartbeat stilled, a lullaby unsung,
In the icy grip of July's cruel tongue.
Arches
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I choke on the combination of tears and diesel and smoke. Kara notices and asks me if I am okay. I gesture at the grass beside us, at the empty strip of green between the McDonald's and the TA, and she understands. There is nothing where I am gesturing. Like me, she sees what is not there. I am gesturing at the space where our other daughter should be playing, having already finished what would very likely not be her first Happy Meal.
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Still losing
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And this is the part that only another loss parent can ever understand: That no matter how much joy you find, no matter how much pain you channel into change, no matter how much love you find in their siblings or in the incredible friends they have brought to your life, it is never enough. It can never be enough.
She is not replaceable.
Read MoreWinter, two poems
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and it is like this every year
when the axis of earth dares change its mind,
and when the memories of past winters
turn to crystals in the air
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