Without You

I remember when you were born.
Strong and squalling writhing in my arms
you smiled the day you were born
and I wondered what I was allowed to do
as we lay, you in your bassinette
and me in my hospital bed.

I remember when you were one.
Your round face and big brown eyes
decorated with long, long lashes
that flickered in wonderment as you
played with the boxes and wrapping paper
that your presents had arrived in.

I remember when you were two.
Ahh! Perhaps it is best not to remember
the heartache we went through then.
The struggles and turmoil that welled up
and surrounded us as we tried to
just be mother and son.

I remember when you were three,
You played superman off your aunty's verandah
and jumped twelve feet to the stones below
then pushed your little sister, knowing
she too could fly if only she would try,
she skinned her knees and elbows and bit her lip.

I remember when you were four.
You kicked the babysitters cd player to pieces.
You climbed the fence you knew you shouldn't,
and captured the prize winning ducklings
and climbed back over the fence
grasping their limp bodies by the neck

I remember when you were five.
You rode your bike to school then as I returned home
you followed me through the door
three more times I took you to school that day
and I ran out of ideas of how to get you to stay
so I shook a big stick and you hurried back to school

I remember when you were six.
You threw the scissors across the classroom
and narrowly missed another student
then told the principal that you would stab him
if you had a knife. He gave you a rule and said it was a knife
You stabbed him and I was sent to his office.

That is where the memories end.
But I'd live them all over again and again
If I only had the chance to do it
Instead I am left with just the memories
of my imperfectly perfect first born son
and a place in my chest that's made of stone.

Learn more about this author, Cheryl O'Brien.
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