Fall took its time this year. It teased us a little with a gold here and a red there until early November before it popped. Last night the cold shriveled the remaining leaves and in the next day or two the rest of the leaves will fall. I miss you so much right now, son.
I miss you all the time. I don’t have a day without thoughts of you – haven’t for two years, four months and eleven days. I haven’t thrown a frisbee for my dogs or the dogs you used to own, now companions to your sister. You are one of the last things on my mind when I go to bed. I still hear your comments in my head. I still crave tea at 3:00p.m.
I hear songs I think you would like. I read books I want to talk to you about. I look and see and feel and always I expect to turn and see you, to hear your voice, to watch you twist your hair as you read with a steaming mug at your side. You are embedded, entwined, fused into who I am.
My habit of making space for people in my life, putting aside things I want to do to accommodate others makes war with me. I make space for your sister and your dad and my friends. There is still a permanent space for you. It occupies part of my day. It frustrates me to tears that it is given only to memory, speculation of what you might say or think and an empty space that you filled with your laughter, your light, your opinions.
A lot of us have been cheated with your parting. I feel anger about that. You taught me so much, you balanced things on a different fulcrum. You inspired me, incited me, frustrated me and pushed me to move when I did not want to at times. I depended on you.
I can still laugh and joke. I think about you when I see the ridiculous. I talk to you in my mind about the farcical. I even write when I find myself so incensed by the crazy things people write and say – thoughtless things. You were such a thought-full man.
All those thoughts. Stilled. Silent.
Your dad continues to focus and obsess about those to whom your organs were donated. He learned the other day that everyone – every person to whom your organs and tissue were donated are doing well. Even the lung transplant – which is amazing. Some of the recipients have contacted us. Many have not. It makes your dad so unhappy that they have not sent a word of thanks.
I don’t think about that aspect of things much. I can’t imagine that thanks concerning organ donation mattered to you, though it would bother you in regard to your dad’s concerns. You took good care of yourself and so all that healthy tissue has given others life. But all your healthy living and stamina could not keep you from breaking.
A tragic accident. Quick and sudden and unexpected and thankfully for you – relatively painless. You departed and we are left with the pain. And if that is the trade off – you painless – not made to suffer – then I would take it even if given the choice – which I was not.
Just about the time I think I have made headway in this journey I find myself back almost at the beginning again. I say almost because the horrible shock has passed for the most part. Remembering how much you loved your family is the only thing that gets me through some days. Thank you for blessing us with that. You are always in hearts.