I think of the children who will never know, intuitively, that a flower is a plant’s way of making love, or what silence sounds like, or that trees breathe out what we breathe in.
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Anna Belle Kaufman was a costume and set designer in her first life. When her son died of AIDS at age five, she became an art psychotherapist working with AIDS and cancer patients. Her writing has been published in Calyx and Psychotherapy Networker, and she lives with her husband and their dog in Sebastopol, California.
I feel defined by loss, my shape delineated by the absence of those who used to surround me. The invisible membrane of love that held us together for so many years has become stretched, attenuated by time and space and death. But when I close my eyes and concentrate, I can still feel my son and my mother.