My Son

I went to the place where we spread his ashes
Engulfed by sounds of birdsong and running water
My head full of thoughts of what might have been

My son would have been loved
My son would have been protected
My son would have been cherished
My son would have been respected

My son would not have been
a source of amusement
a laughing stock
a punchline
a joke

My son would have looked up to me
My son would have confided in me
My son would have trusted me
My son would have felt safe

I left the place where we spread his ashes
Engulfed by feelings of grief and anger
My head full of thoughts of what might have been

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