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A Father Marches OnI am a soldier of grief. I carry a shield of anger to protect my weak and bleeding heart. I seek the truth as to why this happened but I may never know and wonder if knowing would truly ease the pain. My armour appears the same to those people who have known me because they cannot see the deep and festering wounds in my soul. I have been trained to take a hit but losing my child completely knocked the wind out of me and I struggle to breathe again. My arms are strong but I cannot raise my wife above her flood of tears. I am expected to report on how my wife is doing but no one offers me any genuine support. I carry out my usual duties but my mind searches for something I could have changed or something I can fix but the battles of the past are set in stone. My wife's guilt frustrates me because she did nothing wrong but I can't convince myself that neither did I. My knapsack is heavy upon my back as I carry the load of my grief. My grief is for losing our child, my hopes and dreams, my future as a father and the belief that I can protect my family from harm. I am no longer naïve and now know that bad things do happen to good people. I continue on marching my rounds, stepping in my usual footsteps, feeling like a ghost except I exist in body but not in spirit. I am a soldier of grief. By Michael Swain |
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