Fairytales left there
on the hospital floor,
as a young child watched
his mother slip
from this world to the next.
Dreams shattered
of a happy life,
of holding her hand
the trembling now broken,
forever undone.
Nurses and doctors,
helpless and heartbroken,
knowing nothing
could rewrite the story
unfolding in that room tonight.
Home becomes a museum
of aching silence.
Closet doors sealed tight
for years,
too heavy with memories
and sweaters
still scented like her.
Left only
with the will to carry on,
to hold their head high
walking through school halls
where other children stare,
some feeling the loss,
some blind to the pain.
Counselors, teachers,
principals, and bosses
reaching out,
offering love,
doing their best
to stitch the wound.
But the day will come
when they forget.
Except for the ones
still walking
with the wound wide open,
a daily limp,
a raw reminder
of who won’t be waiting
at home.
Life,
short and cruel
for the ones who grieve
what can’t be given back,
who carry a love
too heavy for this world
to hold.
