Weary Spirit

Your death has cut me down like a tree in the forest.
I was once majestic and strong.
You were my roots.
You kept me anchored.
You kept me steadfast and upright reaching for the sun, the moon, and the stars.
Now we have been traumatically separated.
You have been amputated from my life.
I have fallen to the ground, helpless and afraid.
I am at the mercy of this loss.
It drags me where it will.
I am powerless to prevent being cut deeper and deeper.
Soon I am nothing but dust.
I will never be that tree again.
Perhaps a small acorn of my life fell beside the place where that tree used to stand.
Perhaps with your love in my heart a new tree will grow.

I miss you my beautiful son. The pain of this time is quite unbearable. God how I wish I could have done something to save you from this. Please come home to your Mama.

It is not so much for its beauty that the forest makes a claim upon men's hearts, as for that subtle something, that quality of air that emanates from old trees, that so wonderfully changes and renews a weary spirit. ~Robert Louis Stevenson