I was thinking about death, those whom I've lost and how that changes my life. It's more than just the intense longing for their presence, that is just painful, it's the loss of my past and my future that is so difficult to deal with. I miss my son, I miss my step-brother, I miss my step-father, I miss my father. I miss their presence in my life. I miss their contribution to my life and all the things they brought to the feast. It was their personalities, their lives, their contributions, their love, their compassionate and giving natures that made me who I was, without them I am simply not the same person...and now they are all gone. That makes me wonder who I am. Frankly, I'm just not sure anymore.
People have amassed shrines for years. In Prague there is a wall dedicated to John Lennon; flowers and photos adorn the gates of Princess Diana’s home in London; an eternal flame shines for the unknown soldier; Shinto shrines celebrate wind, rain, mountains, trees and rivers; we bury our dead and mark the grave with a headstone….we want a marker of those things valuable and important to us. That is how we feel about our dead children; we don’t want our children to be forgotten, we must remember them, others must remember them. My son's boots are my shrine to him. His boots are the only thing left from his accident. They sit there, worn but whole, and I see him, I think of him, I remember him, I love him. His boots do that for me….they create an instant recall of him, his person, his character, his life. Don’t tell me to put the boots away, don’t tell me that is it unhealthy to hold on to things that recall his memory…it is...
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