Today your mom posted a picture of the dawn for the first day of the Capture Your Grief photo project. It reminded me of this short poem I wrote in my journal on Sept. 19, just after I had gotten home to Portland.
Morning is the cruelest time
When I'm awakened from the comfort of dreams
Back into the nightmare of reality
And your name is on my tongue
But I have no voice to say it
Just the lump in my throat
When will I be able to see
With the dawn?
I still think of you every day upon waking, Luke, and I'm not sure this will ever change.