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Boys and Boots

After Wyatt's accident, most of the things he had on were destroyed. Not his boots, those Georgia Boots are indestructible!  Same style he always wore, lace up, thick sole, heavy leather, steel toe...had to protect the feet. I look at those boots everyday and I think of my son.  Those boots were last thing on my son's feet, and they still exist.

Last weekend two of the boys were in our garage tinkering on a motorcycle.  I couldn't stand to see it, I had to go inside and cry.  I was so, so happy they were here, but happiness is also painful.  It congers up all the memories of why you feel that way.  How many days did I come home from work and there were boys, trucks, motorcycles, boats or some vehicle or apparatus in my driveway...suffice it to say, If I came home something was there.  But that was good; that was life, our life...and I loved it.

Seeing those boys in the garage brought all that to the surface.  I wanted Wyatt to walk through the door and yell "Hey Mom."  I knew he wouldn't, but I sure wanted it; would have given anything for it, needed it so badly.

So, this past week I saw another one of the boys at a birthday dinner.  He held me in his arms so tightly, like a son would hug his mother.  I couldn't let go, he couldn't let go.  It hurt so bad, it hurt so bad.  I had to apologize for crying, I know he understood, I apologized because I didn't want to disrupt the birthday, I didn't want to make him sad or make him recall everything.  I didn't want to, but I couldn't stop myself from making the connection to Wyatt.  I couldn't stop the flow of emotions. I couldn't stop anything, that moment took its own course, not of our doings. I know he felt the loss, his brother, his friend...he lost too and that hurts me also.

On Friday, I was at work and this man came in the room to fix a microphone.  I looked down and saw his shoes. 
                         Georgia Boots. 

                                         Will I ever be able to separate happiness and sorrow?
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