June 8th -A Poem

My screen keeps reminding me,

As if it has something to gain.

That tomorrow is the day of my birth

The first without the one who did the birthing.

When she still understood the phone

She would always call to ask if I got her card

(yes-it was always early)

And to tell the same joke as how she was there for the first one.

Even after the calls and cards had faded with her memory

She would smile when reminded.

“I was there…”

But now she is not

As this birthday drawls near

I am reminded how

Lewis observed his grief was surprised by fear.

And it’s not the dread of death that is stalking

But its in the lossing

of the one who bore witness in the bearing

the life-giver’s silencing