Four Short Words

My son is dead.  Four short words.  By far the most difficult ones ever expressed in all these fifty-four years.  This phrase often jumping uninvited into my thoughts.  Regardless of what may be going on at the time. Heart tightening immediately.  Breathing more laboured.  Tears forming.  Understanding the truth of these words failing to prevent this visceral reaction.  An aspect of my being still frequently shocked by them.  Patience and compassion my allies in this.