The Brave Few . . . March 24, 2007

Thank You Son
( for Rob )

The phone rang at midnight,
never will I forget,
that moment.

Mom wouldn’t make the mornings light,
the call, I expected and yet,
my knees went weak.

My stomach was churning,
I had to leave, immediately,
to be there, in time.

My son was with me,
still, I was in shock, childhood
memories burst in my head.

As I drove, miles streaked by,
the quiet seemed deafening,
evil dark lurked outside,

tears flowed with the solitude,
I spoke of memories, of youth,
and of mom.

That night, would be the
hardest of my life,
I remember, her fight,

her troubled breath, I prayed for
it to end, for her pain
to go, away.

By morning, she was gone,
I cried, a little, before
the realization made me crumble,

it was forever, and then
I wept, uncontrollably,
in the arms of my son.

Thank you son, for
being there.

By Dan Hanosh

tags: Dan Hanosh
Warriors and Wars Poetry The Brave Few