I miss my son

I miss my son.

I miss the son who was here before the depression.
Before the anxiety.
Before the suicide attempt.
Before the stigma.
Before the drug use.
Before the hospitals.
Before the rehabs.
Before the constant battles that make up our lives now.

I miss his smile.
I miss his laughter.
I miss his sense of humor.
I miss his energy.
I miss his enthusiasm.
I miss his friends.
I miss his conversations.
I miss seeing him happy.

I love my son.
I love his eyes.
I love his caring heart.
I love his creativity.
I love his courage.
I love his intelligence.
I love his sensitivity.
I love him with all my heart.

Ask me what one thing I would wish for if given the chance.
It's such an easy question to answer:
I want my son back.

I want him to feel happiness.
I want him to feel at ease.
I want him to feel wanted.
I want him to feel like he belongs.
I want him to laugh.
I want him to love.
I want him to live.
I want him to be free of the demons that seem to haunt him.

I miss my son.
God, I miss him so much.