Piles of things I need to sort through,
Piles of things I'm collecting for his girls when they are older,
Piles of memories that make me smile and some that make me cry,
Piles of things to toss out of here sooner than never!
Piles with their importance to his lost life,
Surrounded by my piles that mean so much yet not enough.
Memories all carefully placed in piles.
These piles mean your life was important!
You did exist but it's now reduced to piles!
Piles I wish you could crawl out of so I could hold you,
Piles I wish you could come out of and surprise your babies,
Piles which can give no explanation to these questions,
Questions never answered as I rearrange and move these piles
Piles of what you were and what you could have been.
Piles of things I need to do.
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This Poems Story
I'm a mother to three wonderful sons and also a grandmother. My poetry is fueled by grief from the loss of my beloved middle son, Christopher, 11/3/1986 - 5/11/2014. He died from suicide at the age of twenty-seven after an argument with his wife. He was always under extreme pressure and appears to have had a change of heart about some life choices. So many questions unanswered and such a waste. As a nurse, I deal with life and death everyday. However, nothing can prepare you for the death of a child: the ultimate loss!