Kathy Lybrand

We walk through the door,
My son in my arms.
No worries about death,
Only thoughts of you getting better.

Only you are not you.
When my eyes meet yours,
I see you in them,
But only barely.
Much like a shadow.

I look at you,
Through the blurriness of tears.
I wish I too had the naivety of my son,
Still in my arms.

There are moments,
When selfishness takes over.
I think, "You cannot leave me!"
Then I see your pain,
Bluntly on your face.

We tenderly and gently,
Kiss your cheeks,
And will always remember the feeling,
Of kissing the velvetiness of rose petals.

As we go,
I know that we will never see you again.
Except in memories and in dreams.
Like shadows.