The Brendan Poems
Written Sept. 21, 1986 2 months after my son died.
My Other Son
You think that this is my
only son
But I have another
The shell of his existence
is buried
in a park
under a tree
near a lagoon
where I sit and throw rocks
into the water
and think of
my first son
My Child is Dead
I do not care anymore about
which laundry detergent is best
who won the ball game
or why
Mary Smith can't make it to brunch
I couldn't care less about
Princess Di or her dress
or
whether Dow Jones went
up
or
down
You may talk to me of these things
and
I will nod and smile
But inside
my child is dead.
The next two poems were written March 25, 2010, 23 years after our son Brendan died.
Birth day
Your birth day was
Joy mixed with sorrow
Red hair
Blue eyes
No thumbs
Tears of joy
turn
to sorrow
turn
to joy
Over and over the happiness of your life
outweighs the pain
And when all is said and done
Your life was the spark that
ignited the flame of my future
Who I am
From the moment you died
You lived
through me and all the other's lives
You've changed through your death
I realize now that joy and pain have blended together
to make me who I am
Responsible yet tentative
Spiritual yet flexible
A friend
A wife
A Mother less one of her children
Yes, Brendan
You are in all that I am
and all that I will become