My son, Christofer ran down the hall.
My son, Christofer had a great fall,
All the skilled surgeons,
Fine women and men,
Couldn’t put Chris back together again.
I woke with Humpty-dumpty running over and over in my head. Annoying. Strange. Then I got to my daily journal and saw the date–the day he fell. He was fifteen. We thought it was a simple “pop it back in” dislocation. No one had any clue it was the beginning of the final countdown. But it was. Five years of pain, loneliness, fear, and frustration that segued into five years of drugs, chaos, anxiety, more loneliness, and death.
There were good times. He wasn’t always sad, but I do think he was always lonely. He lived way too much inside his head.
I’m not going down this rabbit hole. Not now. Not today. My silly Humpty-dumpty verse wouldn’t stop turning over and around in my head, so I’m leaving it here.
Sit, Ubu, sit. Good dog.