corey

it's too many yesterdays to count
since you were here. it seems as if
you've just left--
especially these days
when celebration and mourning
wear the same dark mask. if i look at that scar,
the one i've worn for ten years
to this day
to this hour
to this very moment--
the tears well up hot and fresh, just
as they did then.

the grief i feel is small
compared to the one that i see,
when time slows long enough
for his own wounds to show. i believe
they go deeper
than he would ever admit,
even to you.

it all
continues,
despite our best efforts
to call out a halt, to savor, relish and sorrow.

the best we can do all these
yesterdays later
is remember, and in doing so
keep you
here.

***

i cannot miss him near so as much as dan does. april is always such a hard month, no matter what you do to prepare yourself for it. no matter how you celebrate a life missed, you still do that -- you miss it.

after corey died, dan's mom found a stash of his--puzzle pieces, ones that he would steal just before she finished a puzzle, so that the puzzle would never be finished. part of me feels as though he still has one piece with him, somewhere, and is probably grinning about it just now.