Flesh Wound


I haven’t written to you in so long.  I tried to make myself feel guilty for it, but I just don’t have the strength.  I am tired of feeling pain, sick of feeling sad, and angry with my fragile heart.  I just want the one thing that I know I do not get to have…you.

Writing letters to you and blog posts became a source of pain and not further healing.  I tried to bury my head in the sand and pretend like my heart had been restored.  But the honest truth is that I had just shut my eyes and did my best to act like you were still alive and part of my family.

That was fucking bullshit…and a bad idea.  It didn’t make me feel any better.  I felt like I had a huge secret stuffed inside of me, suffocating me, ballooning me up like the giant blueberry girl in the Willy Wonka movie.  How long could I keep it in?  Then, today…


I can’t keep it in any more.  My “secret” exploded all over the place and there’s blueberry goo fucking up all of the nooks and crannies of my life.

You’re around me, I know it, I can feel it, but you’re not alive in flesh.  You’ll never know things about us and we will never know the things about you that come with living on this Earth.  I feel robbed but I don’t feel like a victim.  I just feel angry about it.

I can’t NOT think of what it would feel like to stroke your blonde hair while you sleep in my arms like a baby, even though you would be four years old and probably proclaim that you’re a “big boy”.    I can see, in my mind’s eye, where you would haphazardly throw your shoes in the living room, where your action figures would be carelessly discarded the moment your sisters ask you to come outside and play on the playground.

These thoughts feel so real.  They cut me so deeply but I couldn’t live without them either.  I know who you are because you are a piece of me and a piece of your dad.

I’m trying so hard to put my life back together, Leo.  I’m trying to set things straight, to stay on God’s path, to listen when I’m unsure, to follow when I feel led, to lead when I feel guided, to stop and pray when I feel lost.

But with every step, I stop and look around, and I only see three kids.

You’re missing.

You’re missed.

We all miss you terribly.  I really hate that you’re gone.

With all that I am and all that I have, I love you.


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