Memorial Day, song for our loved ones

Today is Memorial Day 2010, a day to remember those who have served and died in the armed forces.  The day was rather melancholy, I don’t know why.  I didn’t feel much like my usual hyper-active self.  I chatted on Facebook with a childhood friend who is over in Iraq working as an electrician.  He says it was over 100 degrees and there’s no shade anywhere, just sand and sun.  I haven’t talked to him in oh, probably 30 years.  It was weird, yet familiar and pleasant.  I wonder if I’m sad today because I can feel all the other saddness of other parents who have lost their children.  With so many people remembering their loved ones, I think it just made me miss my son.  I just watched an old movie, Signs, with Mel Gibson, and I couldn’t stop crying.  I can’t watch anything anymore because I’m so sensitive.  My dad was a veteran and he died in 2008, three weeks before my son, Carmen.  I haven’t gone to visit him yet at the cemetary.  I wanted to go today because it was Memorial Day, but I didn’t feel well, so I’ll have to go some other time.  I did visit my son twice today.  I go up there and even though it’s been almost two years, I am still hoping that his grave won’t be there.  Then I take the corner to go down the avenue where he is buried, and sure enough, he’s still there.  I drive up really slow and look out my window at his headstone, yeah, that’s him.  He’s still here.  I wish it was all a dream and that he’s really not dead.  “How can my son be dead?”  I ask myself.  But there’s no answer, it just is and I have to accept it.  I try to pretend that he’s just away right now and that he’ll be coming back home or that he’s going to call me, but then I remember that I visit his grave and so it isn’t like I don’t know where he is already.  He’s up there, in the ground.  Not his spirit, but his body and the humanness of him.  It’s buried about a half a mile from my house.  I miss touching his face and reaching out and putting my arm around him.  I miss hearing him talk and laugh and yes, I miss argueing with him.  I miss teaching him and sharing with him and cooking for him.  I miss everything that made him human.  Now I have to grieve what I’ve lost and yet I also have to learn to be in this new spiritual relationship with him; one where I can’t touch him, or have a conversation with him, or see him and yet continue believing and feeling him near me.  He’s an angel now.  He’s a bright white light of energy.  He doesn’t even look like Carmen anymore.  I am so grateful that I was the one who got to mother and love him.  I grew him in my belly and pushed him out into the world (I almost died during labor, too).      

I wrote this song a couple of months after my son died.  It is the first song I ever wrote.  I hope someone finds comfort in my words. 

      “I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE GONE”


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