The Smoke of The Fire

May 3. Seven days remain. These are some of the last days of April and May 2005. Ten years of holding Aaron tight during the Ten Days of May. Trying to stop the clock, find the crease in the universe to slip around 5/10/05, and come out safe on the other side of darkness.

Weeks after Aaron died I had a dream that Cathy, Patrick, Aaron, and I were on an open air deck off of a big building. We were each talking quickly at Aaron, the way you do when you have much to say and too little time. I wrapped my arms around him. I could actually feel his broad shoulders and muscles in his back the way I did on 5/8/05. He filled my arms.  We were telling Aaron to stay.  He told us "I've got to go now." I held tighter. Aaron became long, slim, and white. His upper body was way above my head. My arms went empty, holding only a wisp of white haze as Aaron rose into the sky. I cried myself awake.

I've got a tight grip on Aaron this week and I know he's going to slip away, right through my fingers. The crease will stay closed. My arms will hold only the smoke of the fire.

The photo of the house is significant. I took that picture at 10/30 AM on 5/10/05. The leaves on the trees, the light blue sky, and less than 2 hours left in Aaron's life. In life as it was, as it could be.