It’s eighteen years and a day
My grief has come of age
So the boxes are packed
I’m giving your clothes away
The shirt I wore at dawn
Those grey socks kept my feet warm
your jacket is empty
the sleeves, too, of hugs.
Your touch, your taste is elusive
your absence takes up less space
I no longer lie in bed and wait
you nudging at my ribs
whispering, Hey! You awake?
It’s eighteen years and a day
yes, my grief has come of age
In that darkest space there is a celebration
as angel wings sprout
and thoughts of you lift me up
How proud you would have been
Against all odds,
I have lived to say
your memory brings joy as always
but you should also know, there are nights
Oh! how I wish you were with me again.
a dawn bird
A Shared Space 
The passage of time certainly eases grief somewhat. I love this line “your absence takes up less space” although there is always room for the warmth of memories. A lovely poem.
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Thank you. Experiencing grief is such a subjective thing. There are, and should be, no imposed time limits. But if you let it, time does allow one to fill the void.
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I love how you’ve tied the 18 years of absence with coming of age at 18.
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Thanks Tracy. Was sitting in the car and thought of him without distress. Aha moment! and the line came just like that.
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Such a beautiful poem, it raised a tear, which is fine, very moving.
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Thank you.
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You are very welcome Dawn
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