And there my son was, standing with me
in a giant warehouse, trying on new shirts.
Both of us knew he had died,
and both of us knew we were now in a parallel reality
in which he had made a different choice.
I could still remember that other life,
that one in which I lost him,
so I wanted to ask him
if he remembered what it felt like to die.
Ask later, I thought. Give him space, give him time.
But he said, as he held up a blue t-shirt,
This time I am going to take things easier.
This time, I’m not going to stress so much
about grades and stuff.
Then he shrugged, and smiled, content in his tall body.
I knew it was a dream, and so, as the dawn light
entered my awareness, I willed myself
to stay in this place where he was with me,
this place where he was at peace.
I woke eventually, of course,
because that is what the living do.
But a week later, I still feel it,
how I live one foot in the world
where he is not here,
one foot in the world
where everything is possible,
even togetherness,
even peace.