Heavy is the Coat
Two years ago today on Nov. 7, 2020, my 7-year-old son Vincent died in a tragic accident. I spent most of the day working on a poem. Here it is.
Heavy is the Coat
It’s been two years and some may say
It’s time to take it off
And hang it up or throw it out
Finally get one that’s in style.
It’s gotten old it’s torn and rough
It’s heavy and it’s light
Sometimes it’s warm sometimes it’s cold
It awkwardly stumbles in public.
When darkness comes and questions fly
It makes each breath a chore
As seasons change and moments pass
It tightly wraps each memory.
I never wanted this old coat
You never wanted yours
We have no choice to give them up
And the strange truth is—I’d rather not.
You can never remove that coat. By your poem, it is permanently affixed with pride and remembrance of the life your son could have had. You are now the Father your son’s death has made. It isn’t about mourning and regret. It is the belief that every life, no matter how short or long, matters in the time they are with us. From this day forth, every time I see your name, I will think of Vincent and I will momentarily honor his life because of your poem.