Wednesday, April 10, 2013

The very thought of you...

You were about ten  and we were traveling
through Italy
just the way
we had planned
so many times
and I, speaking Italian
to you who knew so
few words
explaining my history
this and that
and my house
how grandma died
right there in the
earthquake after you were born
how grandpa's grapes influenced
what wines I preferred.

And then,
all grown
And all gone.Over a year gone.

I woke up
in the dark
all feverish
all frightened.

I'm ready
to have an annual day
to remember our son
I declared-the hour still
dark and catless-
on the anniversary of his death
here at the lake,
with all his friends
this July.

My husband
heard my restlessness and
toward me turned
to hear my fevered call to action.

He bottled the thought
in his own container
as his habits dictated
and began by speaking of
of a day
where your friends
could do
what all of them
did when you were together
go camping
wherever you usually went.

You mean return to their camping grounds in Catalina?
Yes, he said.

Because that's not my intent at all.
I want
My son
camping and fishing
Here, with us, on this lake.

A wave of grief drowned the rest of the exchange.


  1. mmm....felt...the wanting him here...not off somewhere else celebrating...


  2. i had anticipated the end being acceptance, of course this being foreshadowed earlier in your poem, but is there ever truly truly acceptance with the loss of a child? i think word and time must become dumb tools to how it is one must feel, but even in spite of this you use these tools...and in the end devastate me, which is what the irreconcilable is, devastating.

    beautiful and honest, as always, rosaria))


  3. "He bottled the thought in his own container. . ." I understand completely. Such pain as you have and he has must be very hard to share.

  4. I think of you often...having 2 sons of my own, I can't imagine the pain of losing one. Hugs.

  5. I can't begin to imagine the pain of your loss, Rosaria, but I send hugs and good wishes that your loving memories help ease the pain....except, at times deep in the night, when you simply and with all your heart want him back. My thoughts and prayers are with both you and your husband.

  6. I'm so very sorry for your ongoing pain, Rosaria. Yours and your husband's. You write so eloquently. Your anguish is palpable. I ache for you. Hugs.

  7. anniversary of the heart
    a private gathering of thoughts
    and moanings
    that only God hears

  8. I understand all too well. Your grief is so visceral. Grief is like that. Who knew? Who knew that we would long so intensely for our child to be among the living? Who knew that seeing friends carrying on would leave another ache in our hearts? I don't jealously look at their new babies, nor do I wish them to stop living. Their lives are beautiful to me, but they lives that they carry on are such painful reminders of all I lost, all my daughter lost.
    I'm sending love and hugs to you.