27th March , 2013. A poem for Jon.

27th March 2013
Grief seizes me and twists my bowels.
It grabs me by the neck and shakes me like a rat.
It darkens the sun, eclipses the moon.

O Jon, my son, my son, my son.

You were a gift we held too briefly.
You showed us joy in learning,
music, games, and friends.

Death, the impassive calculator,
saw your thread come to its end,
tapped you on the shoulder, and said, Come.

You went into the light of perfect knowledge.
We linger here in the shadows,
waiting for the time to follow you.

Live in our daily dealings with each other,
let memories of your kindness and delight
shape our minds and heal our hearts.

O Jon my son, my son, my son.

My son Jon

Update 26 March, 2013: My son Jon died on 19 March. He was 48 years old, but to me he was still the boy with whom I had conversations on our walk to school, about history and anything else that caught his interest.  I don't know how much of what I think I know of history I learned from him, but by now it's most of it. His choice of books for gifts was always thoughtful; he had little money to spend, and must have searched yard sales and library book  sales all year long. He liked yard sales, actually, he was a great searcher-out of treasures that others didn't value. I shall miss him. Grief seizes me without warning. Obituary via etouch.ca or legacy.com. The last book he gave me was Uncle Tungsten by Oliver Sacks. I posted review of it on February 12, 2013.