Constellation Baby

To my dear son Isaac Burton,

You met him once in the vastness of heaven and space. His arms reaching for you, no longer stiff, no longer cold. The cosmos faded as he watched you draw near. His eyes smiled, no longer grey, no longer lifeless.

He waited for you in the stars and held you close as you journeyed through the constellations.

He whispered his love for you and kissed you gently before you entered the life from which he had just departed. He shared his ocean blue eyes and startling smile with you – those eyes and that smile that he inconceivably left by the Ty River. You touched his soul, swallowed his essence, embraced his light, and then you EXPLODED into our world.

You met our grief with healing and beauty and powerful, overwhelming life. Your first breath was a cooling and beautiful fog over our scalding trauma – a cleansing of our hearts that had festered with loss and bled with each shattering tear. Your ocean blue eyes opened and we saw him gazing back, searing hope into our souls, connecting life and loss in a circle of complete unity. Both of you permanently branded into our lives forever. Your smile illuminated the room as if he were there, holding us together in his starlight. Your vivacious cry was his voice assuring us that we can hurt and still heal. We can shudder with grief and still laugh. We can die and still live in the hearts of those who loved us and those we meet in heaven’s stars.

In Loving Memory of my brother, Burton James

 

Author: Renee Tumolo

Every moment in our lives (the mundane, the outlandish, the tragic, the joyful) changes us, and we are given the opportunity to determine what that change looks like. Will I allow this event to isolate me or strengthen my relationships, destroy my self-esteem or build my confidence, give me a critical heart or create wholeheartedness, plant deep-seeded anger or facilitate love? Throughout my life I've seen time and time again that if we are willing to share our stories with openness, vulnerability, and sincerity, we are given the opportunity to offer hope in the midst of the storm, laughter on the toughest days, and most importantly...compassion and connection in a time of loneliness. This is why I write. On a lighter note, when my husband read this he laughed and said, "You're like a giant blonde Buddah."

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