Monday, May 25, 2009

Let the Music Play

Every now & then I think about it. The hair on the back of my neck feels prickly and the goose bumps on my arms swell. I shiver, mostly in fear, thinking about the inevitable I will face someday. Yet at the same time I think about how liberating it will be when I get there. I mean, when I, myself, go.

I just want to go first, not after them. Like my sister.

For many parents, it's our greatest fear; outliving our children. And for me it became a reality I witnessed with ironic torment. I had just barely given birth to my first child when my sister's first child was taken.

To this day, I am still rattled by the cruelty of this vicious cycle.
There are days that the reality floods over me like a tidal wave, knocking me down, sucking out my breath, choking me as I swallow the filthy water of his death.

I miss him and wonder, especially as I spend time with his siblings, what he'd be doing with his life today had the chord not been cut.

Like a
crescendo, his music stopped. The song remains the same, but the melody is different ~ more melancholy.

Our world changed forever. And no matter how many years pass, our ears will always ring with the sound of his silence.

Now, as I lay quietly next to them in their restful slumber, listening to the rhythm of their gently breathing, I pray that my sons will be bound for a long, productive journey, with me & Hubby watching in the wings, until the day our music stops.

grave Pictures, Images and Photos
Happy Memorial Day


  1. Very moving. As someone who has outlived both a son and a nephew I cannot imagine the pain if one of my other childen were to die before me. Last time the will to go on and the need to supoport others sufficed. But I cannot imagine it doing so again. How did those folk cope back in the 19th century and earlier when so many childen died before their parents. I doesn't bear thinking about - so I don't!

  2. What a heart wrenching piece of writing! You spoke it beautifully, with your own music. It rang with the nightmare of what could happen, and the passionate plea of a prayer to never let it happen.
    I think most parents know the intensity of that prayer.

  3. Beautifully written. I visited the graves of my parents today, and, although I miss them terribly, it felt right that I be there, carrying on after them - the only way it should be, and the way I want it to happen with my boys. The other possibility is too terrible to even imagine.

  4. What a touching piece. I hope your prayer will be answered.

  5. For many years, even before my kids were born (yes) I was paranoid about dying before they were old enough to remember me. Isn't that crazy? I got over it by starting a journal that is today 178 pages long (typed). (And of course, now I have a blog.) I'm sorry your family lost your nephew.

    Did you happen to read my post on Monday? It's about my friend, Molly, who lost her son in October. It's beautiful and warms the grieving heart, I think.


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