It is a grief that feels too deep for tears, and yet they fall anyway. It is a grief so long in coming, so often felt around the edges, but now drags down the dawn into a seemingly endless darkness. One moment agony, another apathy. In this empty house where everything is a reminder of his absence, I pace, purposeless. Here where he used to run across the grass, where he jumped on a trampoline, where we read him bedtime stories and kissed him goodnight. Now he waits, in a hospital an hour away, where he has spent too much of his life, to decide how the time he has left will be spent.
We know the depth of the ocean. We know the distance to the moon. We know so many things, but the enormity of this grief, this sorrow, seems as unknowable as the size of the universe. It is equal to the infinite love I felt the first time I saw his precious face. None of it can be quantified, the love or the loss. There is time yet, to be with him, as he struggles for breath, the machine breathing him. It is that time, that nurturing I might still provide, that sheds a light on this endless night.