When people heard that Nicho was killed in an accident, many said “I cannot take this in, ” “I don’t believe it’s true.” So it seemed important to me and Paul and Alex to find ways to grieve together with all the other people who love Nicho. It was the love and shared sense of loss and practical energy of everyone who love Nicho and us that made this sacred space come alive on the night we gathered.

Some of you have asked about the poem Stacey read for me at the service for Nicho on Saturday. While it is about both my sons and what parenting them has taught me, it was written in a light-hearted frame of mind several summers ago. It’s always been a little joke between me and my neighbor (and Nicho’s other mom) Betsy Klinger who has a celebrity walk-on in the middle of the poem. On Wednesday night my sister—Pat— Betsy and I were talking about whether I should read one of the many poems I’d written about Nicho for Saturday. I pulled this poem up to lighten the conversation. It was only half-way through the reading that I started to cry realizing that way back then I was preparing myself to let both boys go easily when it was time for them to move on from childhood and from home.  I just did not expect to have the separation be as soon and as sudden as it was with Nicho.

Incomplete Instructions

Remember not to give the baby
ice cubes, fish with bones. No
steak—unless it’s cut up small.
Don’t let the rubber nipples
boil dry. They catch fire. I can’t
tell you exactly when a diaper
needs changing. Err on the side
of more often. When in doubt,
ask Betsy. She’s right
across the street and usually
home. Her boys are handsome
and polite which is, after all,
a sign of good parenting. And if
the baby grows into a kid
who easily climbs trees
and tall fences, don’t worry—
the ones who climb high
are able to get down
by themselves.

One last thing—this
will be hardest—take time
every day to lay aside the bother
of the world. Let your son
make up the game, name
the heroes and let him
be in charge of when
playing ends. It won’t
be long. He’ll grow tall,
play less and, someday, scale
a last fence leaving you
on your own with time
to practice what you learned
from him.

You can download a pdf of this poem by clicking on this link: FeedBaby.rev.for N’d death