one year six months

I close my eyes and whisper his name so that only I can hear it.  

George.

The wind stirs and it is him, waking up to listen to my voice and touch my face.

I miss you, my love.

Between my fingers the silk of a petal and a subtle fragrance of something clean and sweet; the touch of his face and the scent of his skin.

I'm sorry I couldn't save you.  Can you forgive me?

From a distance comes the sound of a stream over stones and I hear his breathing, rhythmic and soothing.

I hope you felt how much you were loved.

I open my eyes.  

It is just the wind and the flowers and the water.  But for the briefest of moments it was my son and for that instant I was whole again.

...

I whisper his name so that only I can hear it.

George.