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I was busy today

rushing around the office

working on a project

when a new staff member

saw your photo on my desk.

She picked up the frame

and gazed at your face.

She raised her head and asked,

“Is this your son?”

I said, “Yes…”

and I paused…

I knew it was coming –

I held my breath

She looked at me

with the frame still in her hands

and she asked casually,

“Where does he go to school?”

Her face was innocent.

Her eyes searched my face.

Time stood still as

my heart sank…

because I knew

I had to tell “the” story

and I wondered if I could say the truth

without breaking down.

Fourteen years and I still could cry at the question.

I knew I had to sum up a moment –  the pain, the horror,

the loneliness of living without you.

I guess sometimes I think I’m normal.

I have pictures on my desk just like

everyone else…

I trick myself into thinking my life

is moving on

when actually a large part of my life

stopped the day you were killed.

Fourteen years…

and

still counting…

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