August 30, 2015


"Mommy come here!"

"Bird! It dead!"

I walk over to Leif and we crouch over a bird lying in the grass. Its wings are spread open. I wave my hand to shoo away the flies.

"What kind?" Leif asks. I tell him it looks like a finch and we continue to study the little brown bird. I turn it over and notice a puncture wound on the side of its head. I wonder if the injury is caused by the beak of another bird.

Leif points to the yellow colour in the tip of its tail. "It beautiful!" he says.

We dig a hole and bury the bird under a honey-locust tree behind our house. Leif picks up a nearby pinecone and says he wants to put it on top. He places it on the small pile of earth. I tell him it needs one more thing, so, we cut two sprigs of lavender from the garden and lay them next to the pinecone.

We stand over the grave and Leif gives it one last pat with his shovel. "Goodbye bird," he says.

/photo here

August 21, 2015

for liam.
































Mount Mansfield, Vermont

/Blood

August 19, 2015



August 6, 2015

four.


Liam turned four years old. His birthday was planned well in advance — the hotel booked a few days after he turned three. We talked about waking up with the sun, again, and hiking on the mountain where his little brother took his first unsupported steps last year. I liked the thought of watching my second son run ahead of me in the fields. Maybe, if I felt strong enough, I would allow myself to imagine them both running in the tall grass together.

His third birthday was full of sunny skies. His fourth was dark and stormy.

The sun broke through every now and then but it was mostly grey. We walked under rain clouds and took cover in a tractor barn. I forgot to pack jackets, so we decided to turn back and head home early. As we drove, I watched the clock. 1:36pm — when he began to live and die. 3:05pm — when he took his last breath.

The years pass and nothing has changed. He is still missing. I still feel helpless.

The days go on and so does the love for my son gone too soon.







August 4, 2015

liam's mom.


He existed. He was real. He mattered.

He is my son and I miss him every single day.

liam's mom

July 26, 2015


I want to write something
so simply
about love
or about pain
that even
as you are reading
you feel it
and as you read
you keep feeling it
and though it be my story
it will be common,
though it be singular
it will be known to you
so that by the end
you will think-
no, you will realize-
that it was all the while
yourself arranging the words,
that it was all the time
words that you yourself,
out of your heart
had been saying.

-Mary Oliver

July 11, 2015