Lost to Suicide

Amid the fireworks,your little

hand slipped into crowded adulthood,

before your mind developed a sense of direction.

Grasping anything to garner comfort, but

fear is a poor companion.

Absence begged me to give up on you . . . but, what mother can?

 

I attempted a missing person’s report, but was

laughed out of the station.

“He’s finding himself, ma’am”. The experts scoffed, even as my

happy-boy flyers faded amid other bulletin board lost souls.

The exhausted search now buried . . .

And I hold tight to my Daddy’s hand,

so I don’t lose myself in the crushing mob of grief.

Published by

Karisa Moore

I lost my son to suicide. Each day since, I commit my day to turning the page and continuing to write my story. There is no deeper grief, but I know too, that there is no greater hope than bringing life out of death. I offer each page to you as a testimony that there is hope for abundant life!

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