I sat down to write a different post tonight. I had good intentions and the post started out well, but it mired in the mud of my words about halfway through. I saved it as a draft and turned to do something else, like sorting through our son’s guitar music and miscellaneous papers, things I didn’t deem important enough to take to his children in July.
I recycled the music, and set aside the books on World War 2 (he was very interested in the subject of the Pacific theater: the airplanes, the carriers, Midway Island, and so on). A folder with some Boy Scout awards was all that remained. And a photograph.
His fourth birthday. The cake was John Deere green. I don’t remember taking the photograph or anything else about the day, but I remember that cake and how excited he was.
He wrote a message on the back of it in yellow highlighter. He was trying out cursive. The letters are strained, but the words are clear enough. I ran the photo through my scanner with adjustments for contrast and brightness.
i Love you mom Love Levi P
A gift of passage, perhaps? A note from the past, certainly. A stab to the heart, yes. Because I love you, too, Levi.
I didn’t cry much when I was in Florida visiting his children and his grave, but tonight the tears just flow. It can’t be real. He can’t be gone. His fourth birthday was just yesterday.
What should be his 37th birthday is looming on the calendar. He lived just thirty years after that photo was taken and it just can’t be.
Damn grief. Pour me a shot of Jameson’s and let me sit in the dark with it. Let me remember his laugh, his smile, his hug.
To everything there is a season… Turn, Turn, Turn
I want to say something profound about this cycle of grief, but there are no words left in me. I urge anyone suffering from the loss of a loved one to look up The Compassionate Friends on Facebook or on their website: http://www.compassionatefriends.org. If you are grieving a military loved one look for TAPS (Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors): http://www.taps.org. You are not alone and you are normal.
Now, where’s that shot of whiskey? (j/k – alcohol is NOT the answer.)
Jaci Dawn 