This is the third year that your birthday is here and you are gone.
I’ve been protecting myself all month from the date. Tonight, I looked at my phone, trying to figure out which day of the week it is, and by accident, I see the date. Your birthday is tomorrow. I had stopped counting the days in December, on purpose.
I start to cry. I don’t have a choice when your birthday will hit me.
I do have a choice what I do with the pain.
I give it to Jesus and a happy memory pushes its way to the top.
I see you walk into the Cajun Boiling Pot where I am hosting karaoke.
I see you standing on the stage with a James Dean/Bob Dylan attitude, the microphone in one hand, one hand in your pocket.
It was the weekend of your 21st birthday, December, 1999.
You can’t sing worth a lick, but you don’t know that, so you have an awesome time up there and I love watching and listening to you. You surprise me when you sing, “Summer Wind,” by Frank Sinatra.
I try to get you to sing with me, but you wisely say, no way, probably because I’m famous for being off key.
Before the night is over, you get me to do something I swore I would never do. I eat a whole pile of crawdads with you.
I am thrilled when you dedicate a song to me, “You never even call me by my name,” by David Allan Coe. That was our song that we sang in my car when you were a teenager. You were into rap, and I was into country, and he was our compromise.
I see you, young and handsome standing on that stage, that crooked grin that you got from your father on your face, as you pour yourself into the music. Every girl in the room has their eyes on you and they don’t care if you can sing.
Thank you, Jesus. I cried out to you and you sent me a happy birthday memory.
Forever 44
Richard William McClellan, Jr.
12-29-78~04-18-23
Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie 
Wow! What a Wonderful Remembrance of your Son!! So very sorry for your loss my Dear!! There are no words for losing a child. They have them for spouses and kids that lose their parents but none that I know of for the loss of a child.
I’m happy you have happy memories of moments you shared together!! A precious treasure!!!!
Here is a poem I wrote for the loss of a child. I hope it helps??
A FLICKERING SOUL – FOR MALE CHILD
By Charles Robert Lindholm – The Reluctant Poet
He was a candle in the wind
that brightened up
the darkness of the night
with the light he
brought into my life
He warmed my heart
with his flame
as it flickered
and fluttered
inside his soul
He was the star
in my sky
through the cold
and lonely
winters of life
The tiniest light
from my child
gave my life
a love, a joy,
and contentment
that only a parent
can know
My days were always
brighter with him
in my life
and for me
the sun could
not compete
with him
A candle in the wind
that flickered
and fluttered
A Flickering Soul,
a Beautiful Flame
that I shall
love forever
Copyright © 2017 Charles Robert Lindholm – The Reluctant Poet
All Rights Reserved
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I hear you and there is nothing to ease your pain. I´m so so sorry.
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Thank you💔😘
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Wow! Such a beautiful tribute. I am so sorry for your loss. This has been a bad year for me, with my older brother passing in January, a brother in law in April, and th other bro in law 4 hours after the first one was buried, a cousin in June, and my 29 year old grandson in August. I’ve been holding my breath since then wondering who would be next. Some years just plain suck!
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Thank you, my writing has always been my therapy. Sometimes I don’t know how I feel until I write it.
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I’ve kept a journal for several years and at times I surprise myself with the things I write. Makes sense of a lot of feelings though. Your writing is so good it makes me wonder about my own, but then I sometimes can’t read my own writing so it all works out.
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I can hardly read my own writing either now, and I mostly write on my phone on a notepad app, but I missed the days of filling notebooks.
I actually have a crate full of notebooks with stories I’ve never published. Every winter, I promise myself I’m gonna go through them and scan them in to my computer. ❤️
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I write everything in mine and hope the kids don’t read it when I die. A lot of poetry and stories but even more bitching about the small things in life that make me miserable. A few times I have just torn pages out after a little while because they were not something I was proud of doing. Some of the poetry has been published, but some hasn’t been anything I wanted to share with anyone. I even wrote a country song one time and sang it to a small gathering gaining a bit of applause. Mostly though I just write my thoughts and dreams.
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That’s me too. But there is a lot that is important to me in those notebooks and I need to weed it out. 🩷
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