I ran my hand along that box,
that held what's left of your life.
I fingered it with gentle love,
and my heart swelled up with strife.
How can it be- this is all that's left,
of the boy I loved so dear,
I shook my head, began to cry,
the memories so fresh and clear.
The first time that I met my son,
he was an angry little boy.
Life had stripped him of his love,
and left him pain not joy.
But in him I saw what noone saw,
a scarred up little man.
I gave him all I had to give,
I did the best I can.
I placed my arm around his hurt,
I scared the monsters away.
I instilled in him a love for Christ,
and that in him would stay.
I took him fishing at the pond,
played hide and seek all day.
I gave him what a boy would need,
to grow into a man someday.
He was the best of boys you see,
and he was so worth the trouble,
I loved to watch him laugh and play,
but was glad he wasn't double.
I loved him more than anything,
I wished that he were mine,
I missed so many firsts you see,
in my womb he wasn't inside.
The talent that this boy did have
no sport he couldn't do,
He'd throw the ball or run real fast,
his losses were so few.
The games we stood in rain or snow,
we never missed not one,
we cheered him at the finish line,
he was our eldest son.
But winning wasn't what he sought,
to fill the void inside,
he needed to heal a hurt so deep,
where not even Hope abides.
So soon it became so very clear
that something was not quite right.
He couldn't handle change at all,
and to him it gave a fright.
I tried to get him help you see,
the moods they were so bad.
But noone would believe my truths,
they thought he was just sad.
And so our lives became a game,
of what mood was he in?
Would our day be filled with fun,
or awful and so grim.
Then he began to run away,
from those who loved him most.
He stole a car, he stole from work,
nothing of worth to boast.
It wasn't long before his hate,
turned from him to me.
And I tried so hard to please him,
and be all he needed me to be.
And then it happened one awful day,
he raised his fist at us,
broke up our house and yelled and screamed,
to his family so unjust.
With all the courage that I had,
I yelled, "you must get out",
we couldn't take the hurt no more,
it's not what family's about.
He drifted in and out of life,
it lasted nearly two years,
I'd like to say there was some laughter,
but mostly there was just tears.
He'd come around from time to time,
but it would never be the same,
he could not forgive what we had done,
yet to this day it bears no name.
I think if he was left alone,
and allowed to figure his way,
but well meaning folks kept stepping in,
and in college he never stayed.
They bought him a car and he had a phone,
and didn't need us anymore,
they gave him every thing you see,
but it was us who knew his needs more.
So when the walls came crashing down,
he couldn't live up to their dreams,
all those folks where were they now,
he was coming apart at the seams.
He tried to do the best he could,
and a smile he'd try to muster,
but deep inside the hurt stayed there,
and his life it got too flustered.
It's hard to be a great big man,
when you're just a hurt lil boy.
He needed his mom and dad you see,
not a world filled with grown up toys.
And so my sweet, my eldest son,
began to die inside,
he hatched a plan to take his life,
and on that he could abide.
He came home to me that winter day,
and said he'd been so wrong,
he didn't want to leave again,
he wasn't feeling very strong.
He put his hand beneath my chin,
and said, "I love you Mom",
I held his heart, I stroked his hair,
I tried to remain so calm.
We thought we had him back again,
we thought he'd surely stay,
But he wasn't saying "hello" to us
but bidding us "good day".
We hold on to those memories;
the love the joy, the fun,
we had him back our lil boy,
for one brief and final run.
I went to get him that early morn,
thinking I'd get him help.
But when I got to his red car,
he'd killed his own little self.
I called upon our sovereign Lord,
I begged for his dear life,
but God had already taken him home,
he taken him from his strife.
We lived a nightmare from then on,
a week of hell on earth,
the funeral and the burial,
to me they were the worst.
To lay your child inside a box,
and try to say good-bye,
to never see his face again,
nor hear his little cry.
The nights they are so endless,
but the days they are much worse,
you place a smile upon your face,
but your heart it holds the curse.
You are the Mom of that one kid,
who committed suicide,
you wear an "S" brand on your clothes,
but burns you deep inside.
And so I touched his little box,
the one that holds his things,
I lay my face upon it's top,
and oh the closeness that it brings.
For it's all that I have left him,
the boy that I so loved,
His lives now with his Savior,
in heaven up above.
