People say . . . How are you?
How do you think I am?
Should I tell you about my sleepless nights, about the unbearable pain?
About the feeling that I can’t do anything to bring my child back?
Please, I beg you, don’t ask me how I am.

People say . . . He’s in a better place.
No, he’s not.
He’s supposed to be down here with his family, not up there.
Yes, G‑d has His plans and I accept that.
But please don’t tell me he’s in a better place.

People say . . . You must be tzaddikim.
No, we’re just ordinary people.
We never expected our lives to be turned upside down.
Please don’t tell me G‑d gave us this test because we’re tzaddikim.
We’re normal just like you.

People say . . . He must’ve been special.
No, he wasn’t special.
He was just a normal child like yours and everyone else’s.
I don’t know why G‑d chose to take back his soul.
I just want my normal, cheeky, happy boy back.

People say . . . At least you have other children.
I’m grateful for my children.
But nobody and nothing can ever replace a child.
There will forever be a void in our family.
He will never, ever be forgotten.

People say . . . I know how it feels, I lost . . .
I don’t mean to minimize your loss.
But to lose a parent, sibling or spouse cannot compare to losing a child.
You have lost a part of you.
Nothing can compare to that.

People say . . . Time will heal.
How can a broken heart ever be healed?
How will the passing of time make the loss bearable?
Every day that passes is another day that my child is not here.
It’s a reminder of the hole in our lives.

People say . . . What can I do to help you?
One of the unbearable things about losing a child
Is that nobody and nothing can bring my child back.
He’s gone forever, until Moshiach comes.
You can’t make my life any easier.

But you can tell me when you’re thinking of me
So that I don’t think my life is standing still
While everyone else has moved on.
So that I don’t feel so alone
And so that I know my son is being remembered and missed.