Going Home

He didn’t say a word as we boarded the plane,

He couldn’t speak. He was afraid of flying.

And he didn’t object when his dad carried him

Through the terminal.

Not a single word of greeting for his sister and niece

As they met us at the airport.

“It’s harder,” she said, “when you get home.”

Yes, yes it is. Here I am, sitting in the dark

Like he did the morning he died

Waiting for the pain to subside,

Waiting for the light of day.

Night, day, dark, light,

I’m so glad we have this connection.

With the first ray of hope,

Joy comes. Yes, joy comes

In the morning. A promise kept,

Something to hold on to.