Just Breathe, a poem

There's a kind of drowning that happens on dry land...

no water, no gasping for air that anyone can see...

just me, sitting there, forgetting how to be a person.

Grief doesn't ask permission.

It just moves in.

Rearranges the furniture of my whole life and dares me to find my way through the dark.

I used to think I could fix things.

That's what I do... I solve problems, I show up, I handle it.

But there's no handling this.

There's no version of strong enough that brings my son back to me.

I reach for him in the quiet moments and all I find is the space where he used to be.

The bear hugs. The "I love you" at the end of every call.

Gone... just gone.

And I am left here, helpless,

holding a grief too big for my hands.

I don't fight it anymore.

I just let it sit on my chest and remind me that love, real love,

costs everything when it's gone.

Ryan... I don't know how to carry this.

I only know I will. Because you'd expect nothing less of me.

And somewhere in that helplessness...

that's still love, too.