Dreaming Your Name

The name we gave you

we dreamed to see

on a diploma,

a wedding invitation--

maybe someday

in film credits,

photo bylines.

We could picture it

on a New York City doorbell

a far-flung postcard

a note of reconciliation

an ordinary e-mail.

Never

on a stone.

Never

in the favorites

still on my phone,

unreachable.*

The names of those who die by suicide begin to disappear from conversation. They stop being mentioned or written during the years the lost ones should have been alive. It’s as if they cease to be real or to have ever lived. At a gathering of suicide loss survivors, we went around the room and spoke the name(s) of the person(s) we had lost. For a few moments, they were there with us, collectively hovering. We need to speak their names and be heard.

I need to see Noah’s name not on a stone among the dead, but on something good among the living. I still haven’t figured out what that might be.
 

Friends and relatives often speak their young adult children’s names and relate their latest adventure or accomplishment, or simply mention that they spoke with them. We can only dream what that would have been like with Noah.

Today marks a year and a half since Noah took his life and we began living the nightmare. I still cannot swallow the fact of his death. The bitterness sits like a stone in my throat. 

 *Note: All poetry on this blog is original unless attributed to others.