That moon called to me last night. During the first year or two of Wyatt's death, I often sat outside at night, just me and the moon. I would sit there for however long we needed together. I would cry and then somehow feel better after I talked to the moon as if it were Wyatt. Sometimes, I would wake at 2:00 in the morning and go in the back yard and sit under the light of the moon. The moon would peek through the trees as if playing a game with me. I would challenge myself to get a clear view as if we were having a conversation. Last night that moon called me again; I wrapped myself in Wyatt's quilt and sat under its brightness and talked to my boy. It's been a while since I've done that; it's not easy, it takes a lot to open your heart enough to feel the sorrow. I had to cry. I had to tell him I missed him.
After a bit, I came inside and as I went to close the window shutters, I looked out and there was the beautiful moon shining in the window at me. I see you son, I see you.
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