God's Most Beautiful Angel-A Mother's Grief
52 weeks
52 Weeks
It has been almost a year.
8760 hours. 365 days. 52 weeks.
Our memories seem like yesterday they are extremely clear.
What has time been to our hearts? A healer? No. It has been an eternity to weep.
We thought we would not make it. We fear we may not still.
Our grief keeps getting stronger as that fateful day approaches. It is your birthday and your date of death.
You died when you turned twenty. Hit a concrete wall against your will.
But in our minds you are still here. We see you with every waking breath.
Our visions of you are two fold.
In one you are vibrant and alive.
In the other you lie quietly. You are dead and cold.
We can’t help it. We must on hold to everything if we are to survive.
The years will come and go we know.
52 weeks plus 52 weeks etcetera.
It has been almost a year.
8760 hours. 365 days. 52 weeks.
Our memories seem like yesterday they are extremely clear.
What has time been to our hearts? A healer? No. It has been an eternity to weep.
We thought we would not make it. We fear we may not still.
Our grief keeps getting stronger as that fateful day approaches. It is your birthday and your date of death.
You died when you turned twenty. Hit a concrete wall against your will.
But in our minds you are still here. We see you with every waking breath.
Our visions of you are two fold.
In one you are vibrant and alive.
In the other you lie quietly. You are dead and cold.
We can’t help it. We must on hold to everything if we are to survive.
The years will come and go we know.
52 weeks plus 52 weeks etcetera.
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52 weeks
52 weeks
