By Elizabeth Dent 
Go ahead and mention my child,
The one that died, you know.
Don’t worry about hurting me further
The depth of my pain doesn’t show.
I’m already crying inside.
The tears that I try to hide.
I’m hurting when you just keep silent.
Pretending he didn’t exist.
I’d rather you mention my child.
Knowing that he has been missed.
You ask me how I was doing.
I say “pretty good” or “fine”.
But the healing is something ongoing.
I feel it will take a lifetime.