Someone wrote this beautiful poem which explains how I feel. I love you Craig......please, please come home. I dream of you every other night and sometimes 2 or 4 of us will have a dream the same night.....does that mean something?
I dreamed of you again. You were still a babe in arms, about three years old. I scooped you up and hugged you tight, hungrily inhaled your scent, caressed smooth skin beneath your shirt, clasped you to me for what seemed like an eternity.
“Where have you been? I’ve missed you so much,” I asked between nuzzles. You shrugged and smiled and said nothing.
Do you know that I still ache for you? They say an amputee still feels the pain from the missing limb after it is gone.
The word they use sounds civil, almost clinical. A clean, upstanding word. Disconnection is anything but that. It’s messy and bloody and brutal when they rip the babies, spouses, friends and siblings from your heart.
You were a part of me and they tore you from me. One by one they pried each finger off until you were no longer attached. And now, all these years later, the phantom pain remains.