Nine hundred times I replay our last good-bye. That last kiss before you climb out of bed. That farewell hug at the train station as you stand uncertain, about to board. That final wave, my desperate plea to the train that disappears down uncaring tracks converging at the coldness of forever. Nine hundred times I sit with your Mom as we worry in shared simpatico. With your Dad who bitterly recalls the glory days when righteousness and honor stood at the core of such things. Nine hundred times I look for news, only to find repeated lies trying to justify what cannot be forgiven. Trying to convince me this fabricated cause is noble. Nine hundred times I do not answer the door or pick up the phone for fear there will be words I cannot bear to hear. Words that extinguish my soul the same sad way you say yours has suffocated. Nine hundred times I cry when you return in a box that reads "Do Not Open." I cry with your mother, I cry with your father, but we cry alone as the world's tears are for the nine hundred innocent men, women, and children found in one mass grave….. Killed by the very same man you warn me not to trust as you boarded your train to Ukraine.
