Kristine E. Brickey

Today is July 23rd. He would have been 29 years old today, officially as of 9:56 PM, the minute all 8 pounds, 12 ounces of my son made his arrival via c-section. Weeks overdue. Induced. All day labor. Emergency cesarean delivery.  I remember the moment he 'popped' out (literally, I heard the sound) and was soon after laid upon my chest. Somehow, I'd done it. My son was finally in the world with me. As my body's blood pressure dropped dangerously low, Robbie was scooped off of me and the doctors worked to save me. I survived his birth, and somehow I have survived his death. Twelve years, two months, and one week without him today. It seems impossible, but one thing I have learned the hard way is how much I am possible of each day.  People have told me too often how strong I am, and though I appreciate the thought, I know that nobody knows what they are capable of until they need to be capable of things they'd never imagined. 'Before', I couldn't imagine i

             I wished for a House of Dreams, but forgot that nightmares are dreams, too. Locked inside my head, unable to wake despite my screams, I moved forward, unable to go back. Sunflowers grew upward around me, trying to cage me inside their tree trunk sized stems. As their heavy, seeded flowers appeared overhead, the world around me darkened, hurrying my feet even as I tripped and stumbled over unseen roots. Colors full of meaning swirled, misty moisture collecting upon my face and bared arms. Raging red tinted my hair, firing images of war inside my head. But then, Orange optimism rained upon my cheeks, softening the powerful red, and I stilled, mesmerized with the changing tone. Wanting more, I tipped back my head and waited as Indigo descended upon my face and chest. Imagination filled me with mysteries never dreamed of before. I could have happily stay there forever, soaking them in. Yet, before I’d finished that thought, Blue floated around me, filling me with purpose and