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Red firetruck by your headstone, now literally planted in the ground, once brand new.
Having disintegrated, eroded, moss growing through.
Was it a favorite of yours?
Maybe a gift from Christmas 1967?
Are your parents' hearts still as broken, as the first day you left earth for Heaven?
Do your mom's tears today still flow?
I imagine they will never end.
Life must go on, but a parent's love will continue to grow.
I always stop and wonder what happened then.
June 25, 1968, same age as my eldest, you were only twelve, and I not yet four,
Instinctively I touch the firetruck, closing my eyes and think about you once more.
And, always, your mom, she stays on my mind.
Where is she now, has she managed to somehow, miraculously, move on?
Or is she forever stuck in time?
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