It was a dream…

Or was it? Everything was like it was before; you, shining so bright with your smile that the sun would hide in shame and jealousy, and the moon would eye me with envy, being on the arm of such a perfect young man.

Your wings were silver…

Or perhaps it was more gray, your favorite color, the same shade as the hat you wore until our wedding day, when you smiled shyly at me and hung it on the coat rack for the last time, and saying that you had changed from youth to adult in that afternoon and putting the hat away was the symbol of that transformation.

But it doesn't matter. It was only a dream, the way everything has been a dream, a nightmare, since the monster in your bones ate away at you, to nothingness, then decided you had no purpose once it was full, and killed you.

It's been two months…

Your son looks more like you everyday, and it both breaks and fills my heart to see this.

He has your eyes…

And, in them, I can see that childish gleam that reminds me so of you that I have to send him off to play, so I can sob myself into a short slumber, where, in my dreams, I can see you again.

You're still here…

And everywhere, for that matter. Down by Irving Hall this morning, I heard your laughter rising, loud and clear, the way it was before the monster attacked. After the attack, I prayed for you to not laugh; the sound that had replaced the beauty of your laughter was harsh, sinister, a sound that pained me to the deepest depths of my soul.

I lie here now…

Where I always sleep, and I can almost feel the warmth of your stomach against my back. It makes me tremble roughly, and the child we made together watches me with worry in his eyes, your eyes, that same dark shade, and I have to turn away before he asks the question again, Oh God, that question!

"Where's Daddy?"

It's a question I can't bring myself to answer.

Because I don't know.

Sometimes I can feel you here with me, your callused hands, gentleness making up for softness, caressing my face. Sometimes, I see you on the street, bathed in golden sunlight, and smiling so bright I have to blink, and in that instant, you disappear. Sometimes, I see you in my child's face, those long cheeks, thick eyebrows, full lips… he even has your teeth, and when he laughs, they shine pearl-white, and I see you again.

I want the hurt to stop…

But it never stops. It's endless, because my love for you is endless, and all I can do is curl up on our bed and be a trembling stone, knowing only despair and hopelessness. The only thing I have anymore is Danny, oh God, we even named him after you! I'd always called you by the nickname the others called you by, and had forgotten.

But it's so easy to forget the things that don't matter…

Especially when the things that do matter tumble over you in a tidal wave, and you're tied to the rock of depression and can't fight back.

The boys came over today. They told me the same thing they always tell me: "We'll help you. We'll take care of you. We owe it to Snitch to take care of you and Danny." And I turned them away again. I always turn them away. I'm not the kind to take charity, even when I need it so desperately. Lute Riccio is too proud and too goddamn stupid to take charity.

Little Danny is watching me, and I can't hold the tears in anymore. I sit up, hold him to my chest and stroke his hair.

"Daddy's gone, Danny."

"No he's not, Mama."

"What do you mean?"

"He's right there." Danny looks beside me. "He's got his hand on your shoulder, and silver wings."

I stare at Danny, and can't resist the temptation to look, although I'm not surprised when I see nothing.

"Is he really there, Danny?"

"Yes, Mama. I wouldn't lie to you."

I burst into tears again, because he so sounds like you, and I feel your warmth around my shoulders, and I know:

You're still here…

END

***AUTHOR'S NOTE***

In loving memory of Eric Holden, who died from complications with bone cancer yesterday afternoon, April 8th, 2003. May he rest in utmost peace.