The grass in the tiny square patch of ground that passes off as our back garden had been overgrown for a while.
I mowed it this morning.
The previous time it had been mowed by my son.
I clearly remember that sunny afternoon, unusually warm for early October. At his own initiative he went to the shed and pulled out the lawn mower. I was in the kitchen, watching with pride and relief at the slight improvement in his condition. He had been so diligent in terms of taking his medicines and following all the other medical advice to the last detail. He had religiously attended every medical appointment. He wanted to get better and after a long wait he was. At last…!
It felt strange holding the same handle and pressing the same buttons in the same order as he would have. He is more here, in my mind now, than he was when he was physically here.
He knows I like flowers and now for months there have been fresh flowers in the house all the time. He worried about me not resting enough and now I take a lot of rest. He worried about me being alone and now I am not.
Once again, on being asked how I was doing, I was lost for words. There aren’t any. Kids who lose their parents are called orphans, a husband who loses his wife is a widower, a wife who loses her husband is a widow but there literally are no words for a parent that loses a child.