Parting

It's been one month, two days, seven hours, and thirteen minutes.

I obsess about it really, and I don't know what it is I hope to accomplish by keeping up with it this way. I suppose it's just in case anyone asks me, "How long has your son been gone?"

At least there's one question I know the answer to.

They told me, when Nova was admitted for his surgery, that it would be a roller coaster, and they were right. But at least then, it seemed worth it. The idea of getting him home and healthy made it bearable. The end justified the means, or some such thing. Now, every day is even more of a roller coaster, and there's not even the possibility of a happy ending to compensate.

My own words seem senseless tonight. There aren't words big enough inside my head to hold what's in my heart, or what's missing of it. This, by Emily Dickinson, is the best I can do:

Passing

My life closed twice before its close;
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
A third event to me,
So huge, so hopeless to conceive,
As these that twice befell.
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.