In The Face Of My Son

I looked into the face of my newborn son

And you were there unexpectedly,

Confused, I looked again, and you remained.

He was perfect, strong, the fulfilment of my hopes.

His tiny hand gripped mine and I loved him completely.

I wanted to hold on to the moment,

To keep him, but soon he will be grown.

These memories will be lost,

Closed away in some long forgotten album.

Eighteen years according to the law, will make my son a man.

Once through my childish eyes

Such a span reached almost to eternity.

Now my adult world moves on relentlessly

Dragging me along like a wayward child unable to keep pace.

Through eighteen years my grief has matured,

Grown in understanding, come of age.

Your world is long gone, mine is changed beyond recognition

And you have no place in it

I hardly miss you now, but I often remember little things

Which bring you closer for a fleeting moment.

It is harder now to bring your face to mind,

But early memories of the time we shared are clearer than the rest.

The time before my sixth summer,

When all that we took for granted was lost and never regained.

You should have died, there was so little hope,

But there was prayer, and so we prayed.

We thought your survival was a miracle – you did not!

Your coma took you far from reality, or so you said.

Your dead father was there with you, and so was I.

You remembered the experience with some affection,

But was it me who brought you back?

What we had before was gone forever

I was afraid of death, of illness, yes afraid of you.

I was afraid of your pain, of your frustration, of your fear.

You survived for me and I was ashamed

Of the broken man who lobed me so completely.

“Granddad” – the name on the lips of my children belongs to another.

You will never know their love

And they will not mourn your loss.

I don’t notice you now when I look at him,

But something of you remains, constant, triumphant.

To him you are as remote as history:

Through him I draw a little closer to you.

He knows nothing of you, just a name,

You are almost forgotten, but not lost.