Two candles

We had a small party for Kathleen today, and two candles were lit:

the one on the cake that remained lit for only a moment or two,

to mark the life that has lasted a year and is still going strong,

and the one on the table that stayed lit all day,

that still flickers in the next room

to mark the life that didn't make it a full year, the one I still miss.

One birthday, two candles.

Two babies, much love.

And I continue to teeter between this awe and wonder and amazement

that she is here and strong and laughing and moving and learning

and the despair that he is not.

Among family and friends, I was able to smile much today,

to feel the joy,

but in the letdown of people leaving and a quiet house almost put back in order,

I find the ache growing.

So aware of and thankful for what I have.

So aware of and missing what I don't.

I am holding onto the belief that this will get easier again,

that this dark month will pass and heaviness will lessen.

The sadness will still be there.

I will still miss my boy,

but in the day to day I will get by.

I will see the light again;

tears will not be a daily event.

For this I am holding onto hope,

because I need to believe it.