Words and Loved Ones Slip Away

This morning was a challenging one. In fact, many mornings are challenging. Thanks to modern psychiatric medicine, psychiatrists and psychologists. I’m still standing and breathing. Words though are tough little buggers that don’t always do want you want them too and sometimes they disappear altogether. Where do they go?

Tomorrow it is twelve years since our funny, smart, clever son Lewis died. He was 21. He had Leukemia. I held his hand until it went cold. I kissed him and told him I loved him. I  really loved him. I write this with tears trickling down my cheeks. How does one describe grief? I can’t do it now. Words just do not come. I often think what he’d be like today as a 33-year-old man. He’d still be funny, smart and clever.

I end this post with Jeff Buckley’s version of a Leonard Cohen song Hallejuiah. I always cry when I listen to this. Grief is tough. Love is tougher.