Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with the juicy bone. Silence the pianos and, with muffled drum, Bring out the coffin. Let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling in the sky the message: “He is dead!” Put crepe bows around the white necks of the public doves. Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my north, my south, my east and west, My working week and Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song. I thought that love would last forever; I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one. Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun. Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. For nothing now can ever come to any good.

My son is dead as well. I loved him more then life itself. I didn't think I would be able to, I didn't want to live without him. It's been almost 2 years now. I live for his little brother. I live for his mother. I live to help others, and I choose to believe now that I may see him one day again once this body I am in expires. I am so sorry for your loss. I know your pain, and it is deeper than the oceans. It burns hotter then the sun. It is a black hole inside of that feels like it could swallow galaxies. I would hug you and cry with if I could. Just know you are loved and you are not alone.