It’s all home now. The last of his belongings, just weeks ago scattered to parts unknown, and now all home again. Some at one friend’s house, some at another’s. Some from his storage unit, finally accessible. Some tucked too deeply into the wreckage of his car to be retrieved, like the single gray and black Van’s tennis shoe, its partner alone in a brown cardboard box marked with our family name.
His electric guitar is back home on its stand next to our piano, and the acoustic in its case next to his bed. His multi-colored, rubber sunglasses have been cleaned from the debris of the car and rest on his dresser by his wallet and keys. The Teva flips he often wore, with the imprints of his feet, sit ready for his man-paws to step inside. His childhood mitt, holding a Little League ball, sits near our front door, ready for the boy to come home.
Something in me has been frantic to find his hoodies and ball caps among his belongings. Where are they? I anguished, knowing full well they matter not at all compared to the life and breath within him. But I can see him wearing them in my mind’s eye and in so many photos; they were a near-constant part of him. And now at long last they are home, retrieved from space #041. And with them a few of my breaths come a little easier. The parts and pieces of his life are gathered around us again. They are here, where he should be.
He thinks we’re a little nutty. And also he gets it—he gets us. I know he’s smiling at me now, and hugging us all. He is okay. He wants us to be okay. And we will be. We are. We are devastated and okay. We are bereft and okay. We are anguished and okay.
We are blessed beyond measure that he is our boy. And we are okay.
We miss him every day. We will miss him every day. We can’t breathe for not seeing him, touching him, hearing him.
And we are okay.
Hello beautiful cousin,
I’m sitting here with tears in my eyes reading this. My heart aches for you. As many have said, I wish I could lighten your pain even if for only a moment. You are an amazingly strong woman. You always have been, and while I know that you are okay, I hope when you need it most that you will lean upon those who love you. I love you.
Love you, cuz. XO
Dear Dona,
Your words so poignant. Your sentiments so telling. Your deep love for your son, so evident. As our world changes, our definition of “ok” seems to morph into some state of what is as normal as we’re going to ever get again… May you find some state of peace in that “ok.” Soraya and I love you.
Thank you, friend. Love to you, too.
As I read this the tears flowed. I think about him every single day along with that, tears.
Speechless as usual, words are so natural to you, flowing and healing. But this has forever changed Ken and I and we shall forever remember the words of our sista, and this greatest love. ❤️
I love you, my friend.
Oh, Dona. Your words bring all at once an ache and a lightness to my soul. Thank you for sharing them. You are in my prayers constantly. ♥️
Thank you, friend.