My son died today

Three years.
He was gone before he died, actually. But while the machine forced him to breath, I could pretend he was there.
I have never seen the death certificate, I didn't look at the report of the post mortem.
I forget how tall he was and I'm not too sure how much he weighed. The details did not interest me.
I did not want to know.
I didn't go to the place where he had his accident, I did not go to his place of work.
I didn't see the motorbike.
I saw his empty room and his clothes waiting to be washed. I could still smell him. I could still hear his voice.
And I can mark the exact spot where I was when I knew he had left this earth, before they told me he was gone, I could feel the invisible twining from his spirit to mine, snap, ever so silently. And when it snapped, my heart shattered like a mirror crashing to the floor. 

A heart still in pieces, some pieces still missing, pieces he took with him. And what is left, doesn't work too well anyway.
And because of that, I'm not too sure about who I am now.