16 Years Ago
Another freezing, solitary covid morning. It was about now, 16 years ago, that you could fight no more. A different type of morning, freezing yes, but I was with you and no pandemic. We had spoken our bedtime words as always last night, our last conversation, a conversation that spoke of your pain and no ‘sweet dreams’. Not long afterwards a phone-call got me driving to your hospital bedside in my sky-blue racing car. I rubbed your cold feet and sang quietly in your ear, our bedtime songs, songs you sang to me as your boy, to make me feel safe. I sing them now, but quietly to myself, as if. You’re safe now.