Jasper

I met him at three hours old,
And held him for the next three.
I whispered my love,
As I stroked his cheek with a finger.

I watched as he learned to crawl,
And then to walk and run.
I ran beside his bicycle,
As he finally figured out the pedals.

We’d sleep together each night,
Of his all to short visits.
And each evening I’d create a story,
Just for him and I.

Tickle monster would join us,
And we’d laugh until we could hardly breathe.
Then we’d snuggle up together,
And fall asleep side by side.

The summer of his fourth year,
The call came in all families fear.
Leukemia, was the only word we heard.
“Please heal him, Lord,” the only words we said.

Needles, ports, chemo, radiation,
All words and terms no four year old should know.
All it took some days to cheer him,
Was McDonald’s chicken nuggets.

He came to visit that winter,
He had only one week to see us all.
But his question to me, “Are ghosts real?”
Stayed for much longer.

He went to camp for the first time,
The next summer with me.
Coming home he asked,
“Do you think people come back after they die?”

I told him I did
And kept the tears to myself.
And the tickle monster visited
Every night again!

I don’t get to see him near as often as I’d like.
He’s gotta go to school,
And play with friends,
And Aunt Pat gets left behind.

But summer will come again soon,
And he’ll be back for camp.
Then it’s story time
And the tickle monster
Once again!