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


Comments:
 
Elton4562   Elton4562 wrote
on 3/27/2010 1:46:13 PM
Hello, It's sad to learn about the death of your son. I was very touched by your poems. Few things in life are as tragic as the loss of a child. Elton Camp

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Synopsis
These are 4 poems written after our son Brendan died in July of 1986. He died at the age of 3 after surgery to correct a congenital heart defect. The first two poems were written 2 months after he died when my grief was disabling and raw. The last two were just written this last week as an assignment that my writing buddy gave to me.
A Word from the Writer
I do not consider myself a poet. These are the only four poems I have ever written and will probably ever write.
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