I’m thinking about your mom, Mike,
as all the springtime birds sing
their early March songs.
This has to be a hard month for her,
a painful anniversary.
Two years since we lost you.
I think of her as my mom, in a way–
as much as any mom could love any child,
as much as a woman with a son cares for his friends.
I feel a tenderness for her, a protectiveness.
She had no other children to survive you.
I feel a sense of responsibility, to her, in your absence–
that of a daughter, thinking of a mother
with empty arms, empty house, empty holidays.
I know no one can solve your loss, no one can fill your place–
nor would I try.
I just think of her often.
Send my love to her, over the miles.
Write to her occasionally.
Let her know we don’t grieve you alone.
She is still your mother, and that’s
a powerful thing.
