Yesterday is when I learned that I’ll live the rest of my earthly life without my sweet boy, and the girls without their brother. Being a parent is the most vulnerable thing a human being can do, to create another human whose life means literally more than your own. You’re suddenly and permanently exposed to the most horrific possible loss. You see others go through it and wonder how you would possibly get through it. I guess I’ll find out.
A friend has already given me the priceless gift of perspective in all the time I had with Bryan these last few years. Though he’d moved to Florida a decade ago and considered it home, he came to stay with me when he got laid off. I was sad for him but thrilled for the time with him. He hung out with us more on than off these last three years. He was a godsend. He helped me settle into the new house and cooked gourmet meals for us. We shared our sorrows and disappointments and cried and laughed – Lord how we all laughed. That’s what everyone remembers most about him was his laughter. Our family practices dark humor…really dark humor. It’s one of our most valued coping mechanisms, along with each other’s company. We even took the trip of a lifetime last year, to unforgettable Chernobyl and Spain. A lifetime of memories, crammed into three, way-too-short years.
After only the gifts of my children and Megan’s remission, these last three years with all three of my kids has been the best gift of all. God knew Bryan wouldn’t be here long but gave me the gift of a lifetime of memories anyway. He is so very good. Bryan’s life may have been short, but his light burned bright. And oh, that laugh…
“You and I have memories longer than the road that stretches out ahead.” –Two of Us, The Beatles