Doctor, My Eyes

Tell me what you see.
I hear their cries.
Just say if it’s too late for me.

I listened to Jackson Browne yesterday.

Actually, I did more than listen…I really paid attention to the lyrics.

After all these years of walking through grief, I realize that the pain will never go away. You’d think that I’d be settled into that realization by now.

There are those who look at me in surprise when I admit my raw sadness. Their likely response is “How long has it been? How many years?”

And as much as I’d hate to admit it to you, I feel shame in that. I mean, they are right.

It has been years.

Yet, it often feels fresh and new like it happened only yesterday.

So over these years, I’ve said less and less…

and less.

Until I can barely hear the words in my head whisper what I long to say.

I miss my son.

Imagine that kind of missing, though. Not like he’s away for a while and I haven’t seen him. No, it’s far more than that. It’s a dark, cavernous tunnel with no end in sight.

My eyes are acclimating to this darkness. When things get too overwhelming, I’ve learned to close them tight and grope my way through.

I keep my tears and my words to myself, relying on the boundaries of cold, damp walls around me. My feet still stumbling along the rocky path.

Like so many who have loved and lost, I keep going. One step at a time.

Knowing there is a light at the end. At least I hope so.

I know Jackson Browne had his own story in mind when he wrote these lyrics, but when I heard them, they were a treasure for me. A gift.

Words put to the tears I hold bottled up inside.

Doctor, my eyes
They cannot see the sky
Is this the prize
For having learned how not to cry




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