Birthday

5 September 2013

My darling boy, you are 20.

What should I do, Vaughn? You told me you wouldn’t leave me, but you did. I feel bad for letting you down. But you let me down too. And I’m left here, alone. And you’re gone.

Oh my darling, I forgive you for everything. All you did, anyway, was live your life the best you could. The drugs were stronger than you, sweetheart. I don’t blame you.

Do you forgive me? Can I forgive myself? We won’t have that conversation–not in this life–unless you come to me.

Are you safe, darling? Are you serenely happy, as Ivan saw you in his dream?

I feel your soul very near to me, my love.

I was not a great mother–far from perfect, we all know that. but surely you felt my love? I know I was angry sometimes, childish sometimes, sulky and manipulative sometimes. But I loved you I loved you I loved you. Fiercely.

I used to say, ‘I love you–and I like you.’ And I did. It was a way of saying I love YOU. Yes, I love you because you are my child. But I also love YOU–the person you are. You were so beautiful, darling–inside and out, as they say.

Were you only destined for a short life? Why did it have to be so painful? Do you know the answers to these questions?

Stay with me, Vaughn, let me feel your soul close, until the day I am ready to go and I will finally see you face to face.

Give my love to Dad, and my mom, even my dad, and your grandpa, and Bob, and Richie.

I don’t know how to go on, Vaughn. I try to set you free. How do I do that? By setting myself free?? But I don’t want to be free of you!

You know I love you darling. I wish I could have protected you. I wish I’d been a better mother. You blessed me, darling. I wish I’d appreciated that more when you were here.

Well, the leaves are beginning to rustle, as they do at this time of year. And the breeze has a certain rumble to it, as if it’s been blown across distant terrain, from the heart of a mystery.  And going where? Across our cheeks and into another mystery. All we can do is feel it, and hear it–we can’t follow it. Or catch it, as Bob Dylan says.

You’ve gone with the wind, my sweet boy. You were here, touching my cheek, so briefly. And now you have softly gone. Into mystery. And I can’t follow you. I can’t catch you.

I’m left with nothing but now. A kingdom, they say. But how can it be a kingdom without you in it?

I must go on. I will turn to that tomorrow. Today, my boy, I feel you with me.

I’ll go make your birthday blackberry pie. I picked the blackberries yesterday at Julie’s. Really sweet, fat ones.