On February 2, my family and I remembered our son Zachariah who was stillborn thirteen years ago. The notes, flowers, and words of comfort we continue to receive from friends and family are precious. Thank you. When people were reminded that it has been thirteen years, often they’d say, “Oh, he would have been a teenager.” Painful words of what is not to be. It is hard to grasp his absence. I try to find comfort in holding his presence. Words failed me more often than not this weekend. In his memory, I dedicate this poem.
Fresh snow covers the earth
Swallowing roads in white.
No need waiting till a path clears
My heart knows the way after thirteen years.
Finding a grave covered in snow
With every step, new footprints show.
Falling to my knees
Breathing tender cold,
Empty arms extending
With only a flower to hold.
Tenderly brushing until his name shows.
Kissing petals of a yellow rose.
Falls the snow,
Peaceful and still,
Before it’s time to go.
Turning to leave, a look back
“Will my tracks help others,”
I pause to wonder,
“When lives are torn asunder?”